


In the Shadows

by Cuthalion97



Series: Jedi and Commandos [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Clone Commandos, Crime, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Malachor, Mystery, Nar Shaddaa, Psychometry, Sith Artifacts, Sith Temple, Suspense, The Dark Side of the Force, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 98,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26447560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuthalion97/pseuds/Cuthalion97
Summary: Quinlan Vos has been sent to Nar Shaddaa. His mission: to find and stop the Prince, a mysterious crime lord who intends to sell Sith artifacts to Dooku. But he soon finds out that he will be unable to complete the mission on his own.Cody sends him some help - in the form of Bad Batch.Quinlan Vos isn't so sure about this. Neither are Bad Batch.What seems to be a simple mission spirals quickly out of control. The commandos of Bad Batch, while highly skilled, are still new to the war and have never worked with a Jedi, while Quinlan Vos is used to working alone. In the meantime, the Sith are on the move. Ancient, unknown evils shift restlessly in the shadows of Malachor. Palpatine is not the only one who worships the dark.
Relationships: Hunter and Crosshair, Hunter and Tech, Hunter and Wrecker, No Romantic Relationship(s), Quinlan Vos and Bad Batch, Quinlan Vos and Crosshair, Quinlan Vos and Hunter, Quinlan Vos and Tech, Quinlan Vos and Wrecker, Tech and Crosshair
Series: Jedi and Commandos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106900
Comments: 247
Kudos: 123





	1. Nar Shaddaa

A Jedi starfighter cruised silently, two kilometers above the gleaming blue ecumenopolis of Nar Shaddaa. Inside the ship, Quinlan Vos leaned an elbow against the transparisteel and kicked his feet up to rest on the control panel as he looked out the window.

Somewhere, in that glowing city that stretched across the entire planet, was the crime lord known only as 'The Prince'.

Quinlan snorted and brushed his long hair out of his face. 'The Prince' was an incredibly stupid name. Especially for someone who had never been seen. . .

To be more accurate, the Prince had never been seen by anyone who then lived to talk about it. One Nikto had gotten off a dying transmission that gave Grakkus the Hutt information about the Prince's whereabouts and his race. Thus Quinlan's current trip to the crime center of the galaxy.

Just about the only thing Quinlan Vos had been told was that the Prince sold everything, from drugs to slaves to outlawed weaponry; and that, last year, he'd made a bigger profit than Grakkus the Hutt.

Naturally, the Jedi had only been able to discover this because the Hutts wished to get rid of their biggest competitor.

If it had only been a matter of one crime lord versus another, Quinlan Vos would have thumbed his nose at Jabba – literally – and left Tatooine with a clear conscience.

But it never was as simple as that. Jabba had told the Jedi Council that the Prince was expanding his business. Now, he bought and sold not only from slavers, drug-dealers, and smugglers. . . He was also selling to the Separatists.

"Like the Hutts are _not_ selling to them?" muttered Quinlan, slouching in his seat and frowning. "Slime-ridden grubs."

But even Grakkus, rumored to be a collector of Jedi artifacts, wouldn't trade in _Sith_ artifacts – or so the Hutt Cartel said. If they were to be believed, and Quinlan was pretty sure they weren't, the Prince was more dangerous than all of the Hutt crimelords combined. The Prince was putting together teams of the galaxy's best bounty hunters, and sending these teams to track down Sith artifacts . . . which would then be sold to Count Dooku.

How Jabba had found that out was anyone's guess. Personally, Quinlan thought that Jabba – and the rest of the Hutt Cartel – was lying. What better way to get their chief competitor out of the way than to get the Jedi interested in investigating?

Too bad the Hutts hadn't done anything to make the Jedi want to investigate _them,_ Quinlan thought. Ah, well, nothing he could do about it right now. He leaned back, hands clasped loosely behind his head, and used his heel to punch the main comm button. "Hey, airspace control. Any landing platforms free?"

There was a startled silence before a female voice said, _"Please state your name and your destination."_

"Destination, Hutta Town, Grakkus the Hutt's palace," Quinlan replied. "Grakkus is expecting me."

_"Your name, please,"_ the woman repeated.

Quinlan Vos smirked. "What if I decide to lie?"

This time, the pause was much longer.

But, as fun as it was, Quinlan really had no intention of tangling with the authorities this early in the investigation. He wasn't in the mood. And Hutts could be real jerks when they were unhappy, so . . . Sitting upright, he keyed in the code Jabba had given him and transmitted it.

_"Jedi Investigator, identity confirmed,"_ said the woman a moment later, sounding relieved. _"You are cleared for platform nine."_

After landing on the wide, round platform, Quinlan locked down the ship systems, pulled on a pair of thin, black, fingerless gloves, and hopped out. He headed to the back compartment, where an astromech droid would normally travel, to pull out the supplies he'd need for the mission.

He glanced up at the yellowed sky. Nar Shaddaa's planet, Nal Hutta, was not visible from this side of the moon, which was just fine with Quinlan. He _hated_ Nal Hutta. It was full of dragonsnakes and anoobas and hundreds of criminals who wouldn't hesitate to put a blaster bolt in a careless Jedi's back. Also, there were thousands of insects – mostly tiny, midget-like ones, but there were also bugs big enough to take a serious chunk out of one's skin.

And as if this weren't bad enough, the Hutts' home planet was mostly swampy and hot, with a thick fog that clung to every surface available. Whenever it did bother to rain, the water that fell from the yellowed clouds had a greasy feel to it.

To summarize, Nal Hutta suited the Hutts perfectly. Quinlan wrinkled his nose at the thought and slung a pouch of ration bars onto his belt.

Nar Shaddaa wasn't a big improvement by any means – there were thousands of criminals, rather than hundreds – but at least the climate stayed relatively cool, and there was no slippery fog to walk through.

Quinlan shuddered at the memory. He was pretty sure that fog wasn't supposed to be _solid_. Water shouldn't, strictly speaking, _remember_ the last person or thing that had touched it. He'd been careless, once, and traveled through a bog on Nal Hutta without covering his arms or face. The fog that had touched him had felt like tendrils of alien thought, malicious and half-formed. Only later on in the mission, well after he'd escaped the dark swamp, had he found out that scores of Hutts had been in that bog the day before, plotting the murders of several of their clan.

Quinlan clasped his belt over his tunic, slid a small hold-out blaster into a holster at the small of his back, and stared out over the landing platform.

The duracrete was marred by hundreds of cracks. Either scores of heavy ships landed on it daily, or no one had bothered to have it repaved in years. Judging by the ramshackle appearance of the buildings around the landing field, and the worn paint on the duracrete, Quinlan assumed the latter.

_Speaking of worn paint. . ._ He glanced at his starfighter, and at the scorch marks covering its once flawless paint job. His last mission had not been kind to his poor ship.

With a shrug, he turned away. Maybe after this mission he could bribe one of the unsuspecting younglings at the Temple into helping him. They always got nervous when he pulled out the black and red paint. "The colors of the Sith?!" a surprised padawan had once whispered to her crechemate.

Aayla Secura, who had been herding the group of padawans to their lightsaber forms practice, had glanced at the ship, but given no reaction.

Quinlan smirked. He'd long ago lost the ability to surprise his former Padawan, but whatever. There were plenty of other Jedi to surprise and even shock, particularly the more traditional ones. Ki-Adi Mundi's white eyebrows had shot up his considerable forehead when he saw the brilliant red and black streaks, and Mace Windu had narrowed his eyes slightly, remaining silent with obvious difficulty.

Some of the Jedi Masters, on the other hand, refused to be shocked. Kit Fisto had merely blinked his large eyes, smiled, and said, "It makes you rather a target, does it not?"

As for Luminara Unduli, she had simply ignored the ship. She probably knew that Quinlan wanted her opinion on it, and therefore pretended to have no opinion.

Plo Koon's reaction was better. He'd actually stopped to stroke his mask and look thoughtful. And Anakin Skywalker had stopped mid-dash to say, "Huh. Cool paint scheme." That had been fun. So had Obi-Wan's critically raised eyebrow and cool gaze, which he'd aimed at both Quinlan _and_ Anakin. But the most hilarious reaction of all had been Yoda's. The grandmaster, who had been tottering past on his way to meet with Bail Organa, gave the nose of the starfighter a sharp rap with his gimer stick as he walked by, muttering, "Hmph. Younglings."

Good times.

Quinlan smirked and resolved to add a design of red and black flames along his starfighter's wings next time he painted it. But for now, he had a job to do. It was time to put a serious crimp in the Prince's day.

Assuming the Prince existed, of course.

With a casual shrug, Quinlan set off toward the edge of the landing platform, drawing the hood of his short cape over his eyes.

No one stopped him. On this planet, the inhabitants paid attention to no one but themselves – unless they were being followed or threatened in some way, and then the usual method was to kill the person annoying you.

'Ignore and be ignored' was the general rule of surviving on Nar Shaddaa.

Each district of the moon was ruled by a different gangster or crimelord or smuggler king. Hutta Town was ruled by Grakkus, so the primary rule of surviving _here_ was 'Ignore and be ignored while staying on Grakkus' good side'.

Quinlan paused at the edge of the field, shading his eyes and peering at the speeder rental booth as he considered whether or not Grakkus even _had_ a good side.

The booth was dark, lit only by the screen of a datapad that was playing some heavy-isotope band or other. The main singer was truly terrible. Quinlan looked over at the owner of the booth, a heavy-set Gran, and gave him a terse nod. The Gran stared back at him, its three eyes blinking slowly.

"Best you've got," said Quinlan, hefting a small pouch of credits. "And don't give me anything that's been in a high-speed chase anytime during the last month."

Because those speeders had a good chance of being entered in the database of the scattered police-bots that occasionally roamed the airlanes and streets. The damaged and malfunctioning bots were dangerously unpredictable. They had no assigned routes to police and no rules to enforce, so their processors defaulted to the last rules they'd been given to enforce . . . And they enforced those rules dangerously. Some police-bots, which had originally come from pacifist planets, had been known to kill random passersby for carrying weapons.

The Gran, who seemed to be having trouble making up his mind, finally pointed to a bright orange speeder. "Three hundred credits for that one."

Quinlan walked over to the speeder and stared down at it. "This thing hasn't been started in months. And it's missing a fuel cylinder." He looked over the row of chained vehicles for a long moment, observing their engines. Nope, nope, no, _definitely_ not, and . . . there. An old, dingy-white speeder with a pale '30' painted across one side. The engine had been recently cleaned, and should at least get him to the level he needed without falling apart.

He hoped.

"I'll take number thirty."

The Gran shrugged again.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "Yes? No?"

Another shrug.

This Gran led an exciting existence, that was for sure.

After a moment, Quinlan went back to the booth. "A hundred credits for number thirty. I'll want it for one day."

The Gran blinked slowly. "You pay for two days upfront."

"Fine. A hundred credits for number thirty. I'll want it for two days."

The triple gaze of the Gran fastened suspiciously on him. "Two days, two hundred credits."

"Two days at fifty credits each. Or I'll find another booth."

Buying _anything_ on Nar Shaddaa without bargaining was foolhardy in the extreme. It let others know you had money to spare. And, even if nothing else was cheap here, life was.

Finally, the Gran let out a long, dramatic huff. "Two days at sixty credits each."

Quinlan pretended to consider for a moment before giving a short nod. The Gran pressed a button, and the security chain on number thirty fell away. Quinlan, who had already counted out a hundred and twenty credits – in small chips – tossed them to the booth owner and jogged over to the speeder.

He spent a few moments checking it out, then swung a leg over the saddle and kicked the engine into life. It roared, and he leaned forward, twisting the handles. The speeder leaped forward, straight off the landing platform and into the disorderly air traffic that flew in all directions. There were no traffic rules on Nar Shaddaa. No defined airlanes, no safety regulations on vehicles . . . no speed limits.

Quinlan Vos grinned, swerved around a large airbus, and accelerated, heading straight for the center of town and Grakkus' palace.

The palace, which towered above the surrounding buildings and airlanes, was shaped like a four-sided pyramid with a flat top instead of a point. Narrow towers rose partway up its sides, and the entire building was a dull shade of tan.

As he approached, Quinlan slowed his vehicle, observing the palace and its surroundings carefully. He shouldn't be in real danger, since both the Hutt Clan and the Jedi Council knew that Quinlan was supposed to meet with Grakkus. The Hutts seemed to trust the Jedi as much as the Jedi trusted them – which was to say, not at all – but if there was one thing the Hutts were good at, it was preserving their own skins. Even Grakkus, fascinated as he apparently was with Jedi artifacts, would never risk killing, robbing, or imprisoning a Jedi . . . At least, not when he would be the obvious culprit. No one wanted the Hutts _and_ the Jedi after him at the same time.

Quinlan slowed to a crawl, angling his speeder toward the flat, empty roof of the palace. Having a quick getaway ready was vital. Grakkus might not be an immediate threat, but he wasn't the only dangerous being here. As soon as the Prince found out that a Jedi Investigator had come to the moon, he'd take steps to get rid of him. And even if the Prince didn't exist – well, Nar Shaddaa was so dangerous that no Jedi had been sent here in centuries.

Quinlan landed his speeder at the edge of the roof, swerving it so that it faced outwards. "Hey, yeah," he muttered, hopping off and brushing his gloves off. "That's kinda neat. I'm the first Jedi here in centuries."

He noticed a single-person lift in the center of the wide roof and headed toward it, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings.

After all, it wouldn't do to fail through carelessness. Yoda had only allowed him to come here because he was the best criminal investigator the Order had.

Well . . . that, and because Quinlan Vos had sauntered into the Council Room, _while_ the Council was still talking to the Hutt Cartel, and volunteered for the mission, loudly and obnoxiously.

Hey. Temple life could be really dull.

Jabba had accepted before Yoda could decline. The Hutts had cut the connection, and then there'd been a brief staring match between the grandmaster and a decidedly unrepentant Quinlan.

He'd won in the end, though. Quinlan Vos stared at the lift for a moment before pressing the activator.

The lift disappeared into the floor with a quiet hum.

Quinlan folded his arms and waited.

A few moments later, it returned, carrying a female Twi'lek in a simple dress. She had lavender skin and beautiful purple eyes, and her lekku were bound with intricate bands of gold.

Which was all very nice, but why on earth would a serving girl be up here? Quinlan looked from side to side. No one was sneaking up on him.

"So," he said, gesturing to the girl. "I'm here to see Grakkus. And you are. . .?"

She bowed to him, hands clasped at her chest. "The most wise Grakkus awaits you in his throne room."

"Right." Quinlan twisted his mouth to one side. "I mean, I'd argue the 'most wise' part, but okay."

She cast him a quick, frightened look and pressed the lift control again. When the lift returned, empty this time, Quinlan hopped on and descended into the depths of Grakkus' palace.

* * *

The throne room was large, gilded, and barely lit. Quinlan Vos walked down the center of the room, keeping his head motionless as his eyes cast darting glances all around. Figures lurked in the shadowed perimeter, keeping pace with him as he approached Grakkus.

The Hutt lounged across a raised dais, looking almost like Jabba in the faint light that trickled in through the tiny, high-set windows. _Almost_ like Jabba, because Grakkus was bigger than the Tatooine crimelord. Bigger, and much stronger-looking.

Quinlan came to a stop a few meters away, glad that even the strongest Hutts were not known for their speed. "Grakkus."

The immense form moved, twisting. There was a rapid clinking of metal, and the Hutt got to its feet.

Hutts didn't _have_ feet.

Quinlan Vos stepped back, staring, barely resisting the impulse to draw his lightsaber. Grakkus the Hutt had twelve powerful cybernetic legs. Now, instead of looking like a slime-ridden grub, he looked like a slime-ridden centipede. _Wow._

"Jedi Investigator." Grakkus spoke Basic like Ziro, in a booming voice like Jabba's.

Well, might as well go through the motions. "Greetings. I am Quinlan Vos, here at the request of the Hutt Cartel to speak with you about –"

"The Prince." Grakkus moved forward, his legs clicking against the stone floor. "I heard that you, Vos, _volunteered_ to locate the Prince. And that you are working alone. That is foolish, even for a Jedi."

"Yeah, I suppose." Quinlan brushed unconcernedly at a loose strand of hair that kept falling in his eyes. "Any information you can give me? Jabba seemed to think you could help me out."

Grakkus moved forward with a lurch and leaned forward, his wide, flabby face a few inches from Quinlan's. "I have no wish to _help you out,_ Jedi."

Well, fair was fair. Quinlan didn't want to help the Hutts out either. He raised an eyebrow and examined his fingernails. "Right . . . So, what, I head back and tell Jabba sorry, but I can't investigate after all?"

Grakkus clicked his way back to the wide dais and settled his bulk carefully. "You are reckless and a fool."

Quinlan suppressed a yawn.

Grakkus seemed to pause for a moment, his round, yellow eyes narrowing. "The Cartel _has_ determined that the Prince is a serious threat to our profits."

"Uh-huh."

"We will ensure that you get any information we obtain."

That . . . was less helpful than he'd expected, even from Grakkus. He decided to try acting a bit more subservient. "Can you tell me what you already know about him? Where he operates? What species he is? Anything?"

Grakkus looked bored, as though this were not at all worth his while. Quinlan had never before seen a Hutt looking bored. It was a new experience, which quickly grew old, and then _he_ got bored.

Quinlan cleared his throat and gave up on pretending to be subservient. "I was sent here to investigate, Grakkus, not to wait around while you decide whether or not to give me the information I need."

Grakkus stood again – yep, it was just as disturbing the second time around – and folded his arms. "The Prince is a Serennian."

A Serennian. How interesting. Perhaps the Prince had known Dooku, back on Serenno. It would make sense. The probability of the Sith lord making a deal with a random criminal was not particularly good – and the information Jabba had given him seemed to indicate that the Prince had contacted Dooku, rather than the other way around.

Grakkus took a clinking step forward. "His stronghold is located on the opposite side of Nar Shaddaa. You have no chance of getting in."

_That's right, make sure you don't encourage me. I might actually succeed._ Aloud, Quinlan only said, "I'll at least do some recon."

The Hutt seemed to have decided that Quinlan was a hopeless case, because he gave one muscled arm a careless wave. "I'll have the coordinates sent to you."

Quinlan bowed. " _Thank_ you."

"And Jedi . . . I have bounty hunters who will help you, when the time comes."

Quinlan almost snorted, but caught himself in time, instead giving a casual and not particularly respectful bow. Turning on his heel, he strode jauntily off and entered the lift.

Grakkus would certainly send expensive bounty hunters to assist in raiding the Prince – of that, Quinlan had no doubt. But they wouldn't be there to help bring the Prince to justice. They'd be there to loot the stronghold and bring even more riches to a Hutt who'd already gained an insane amount of wealth through his crimes.

Quinlan reached the roof and mounted his speeder. "Yeah, no thanks," he muttered, swooping forward into the traffic.

His datapad beeped as it received the file from Jabba's men.

Then it beeped again as the security program identified and deleted a tracking protocol that had come in with the datafile.

Quinlan rolled his eyes and dodged an oncoming air truck. Tracking protocols. As if a skilled investigator wouldn't have installed safeguards.

Casting a last glance at the palace, he headed upward. Now that Grakkus had given him what he needed, he shouldn't need to communicate with him again. The Hutt would never know when Quinlan intended to move in against the Prince.

Neither would the Prince.


	2. Enter the Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I planned the story out this week, the tone changed. I'd intended it to be a lighthearted mission with Quinlan and Bad Batch. It will still be about Quinlan and Bad Batch, but honestly, the story is now much more focused on suspense, drama and horror.
> 
> I . . . don't know if I'll hear any complaints about that. . . :D

Quinlan returned to the landing pad, whizzed past the rental booth, and braked gently to a halt beside his starfighter. His next task – and probably his easiest one for the foreseeable future – was to figure out where exactly the coordinates would lead him.

He tapped a hidden controller on his belt and the cockpit of his starfighter opened silently. Putting a hand on the side, he vaulted in and connected his datapad to the consol.

"Okay. Let's see what we've got."

The map of Nar Shaddaa's surface on the screen zoomed in abruptly to a blinking white dot, and coordinates lit up. "Wow. Grakkus wasn't kidding when he said the other side of Nar Shaddaa. That's, what, seven thousand kilometers away?"

He glanced at the speeder. Top speed of that junkpile was probably one hundred kph, so that meant seventy hours of non-stop travel through the dangerous air lanes.

Alternately, he could take his starfighter and risk detection. Seventy hours, or five and a half. The choice was an easy one, really – but it was too bad he couldn't take the speeder. Especially since he'd paid the hundred and twenty credits.

Quinlan stared at the map and rested his chin in one hand. He could feasibly strap the speeder to the top of his fighter and hope it didn't fall off, but that would _really_ catch people's attention. Better to leave it here.

Still, he'd leave it somewhere handy . . . just in case something went wrong, which it inevitably would. Quinlan hopped out, moved to the edge of the platform, and peered over.

Many landing pads had ledges connecting their supports. These ledges were more than big enough to store a speeder bike on. Sure enough – this landing pad followed the pattern. Perfect.

He went back to his starfighter and pretended to be tinkering with it while the Gran locked up his rental booth for the day and stepped into a lift. The instant the doors closed, Quinlan moved the speeder bike to the edge, checked for oncoming traffic, and slammed the accelerator pedal down.

The bike shot off the edge and tilted on its side as he hit the right brake. He cut speed abruptly, and the bike's nose slipped neatly into the gap between platform and supports. Quinlan maneuvered it carefully to the center of the platform and dismounted, his boots on the very edge of the ledge. If anyone but himself was insane enough to climb either up or down to reach the speeder . . . well, they'd be welcome to it. Unless, of course, said person decided to plant a bomb or some other equally unpleasant gimmick.

Getting blown up while starting a speeder would be a stupid way to enter the Force.

"Guess I'd better take some precautions," he murmured, flipping open his black wallet. He took out a small data stick and inserted it in a small slot just beneath the starter, allowing his current code to register. Several clicks sounded, and he nodded, withdrawing the data stick. No one could start it without that code now – and, should anyone try a little sabotage, they'd be unable to access the engine or fuel lines without forcibly breaking open the locks that protected them.

It would make it harder for them to set explosives up unnoticed, at the very least.

Satisfied with his work, Quinlan moved along the ledge to the most shadowed area of the landing pad, then jumped, catching the duracrete ten feet above.

A moment later, he was back in his starfighter and taking off.

Quinlan double-checked the destination coordinates, turned on autopilot and set a proximity alert to go off when he was within one hundred kilometers of his destination. As the surface of the planet streaked past beneath him, he tilted his seat back and shut his eyes. Time for some sleep, he supposed, settling back more comfortably. It wasn't like there was anything else to do.

* * *

The landing pad Quinlan's fighter was on was only a two-minute walk away from the huge building – a warehouse, it seemed – that was, supposedly, the Prince's headquarters. Quinlan shut down and locked all the systems and climbed stiffly out.

He stretched backwards, hands braced against his spine, then froze in that position, staring at the sky and at the shadowy yellow sphere that was Nal Hutta. ". . . aw, nuts."

Having gotten that complaint out of the way, he slid a long-range commlink into his left bracer, checked his blaster, and hefted his lightsaber thoughtfully.

It was always good to have a lightsaber – except when the sight of one would mark you as prize bounty. And he couldn't risk blowing his cover early in the mission, especially not when the Prince was likely to have men everywhere. A knife wouldn't draw much attention, though. Quinlan Vos removed a black-sheathed knife with an extendable blade from his supplies and slipped it onto his belt.

As for his lightsaber – well, thieves often raided cockpits when there was no one around. After a moment's thought, Quinlan slipped beneath the fighter and reached up, putting his saber in the opening for the retractable landing gear. Good enough.

Drawing his hood over his eyes, he sauntered away from the platform, along one of the many narrow walkways that crisscrossed the airlanes.

No one who was afraid of heights could function here for long. The airlanes stretched beneath the walkways, broken every hundred feet by another set of walkways and tunnels, and the constantly changing levels of light and noise could be disorienting.

Of course, Quinlan spent a lot of time sneaking about the lower levels of Coruscant, so he was more used to it than many others. Still – there was something about the blue light that made the shadows much deeper than yellow light did.

He paused in the center of the walkway and stared down into the unending rows of traffic. This area of Nar Shaddaa was too quiet for his taste. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the Prince's headquarters were not a hundred yards away, but the few people that were in sight moved fast, keeping their heads down. Even the traffic was slower and quieter here. No gunning engines, no jockeying for position, no cutting from one level to the other.

He felt eyes on the back of his head and started walking again, glancing casually to one side. A flicker of shadow was all he saw, but he didn't need his eyes to sense the watchfulness emanating from the figure.

A few meters away from the end of the walkway, Quinlan paused again, as though uncertain of his destination. He took a hesitating step forward, glanced up at the tall building in front of him, and turned to look the other way.

The figure was approaching rapidly now, and Quinlan smirked. _Trap set._

A weather-skinned man slipped into his path, a long rifle held loosely at his side. He wore black pants, a loose pilot's jacket, and a deep red turban. A belt of miniature grenades hung across his chest. He stared at Quinlan. "Lost something?"

"Not exactly, no," he answered, folding his arms and resting his weight on one foot.

Red Turban studied him with narrowed eyes. "Looking for something, then."

"That's more like it." Quinlan idly fingered the knife at his belt. "Maybe you can help me. Word on the streets is, there's work around here for skilled bounty hunters."

"Yeah?" The man gestured toward the tall building with his rifle. "Well, if you think 'around here' means this building, you're wrong."

Quinlan decided to gamble. "If it's not this building, it'll be the next one over. The number of guards means there's _something_ in one of them. And, given that you don't exactly have an 'apply here' notice up . . ." He shrugged. "I figured this was the best way to get the Prince's attention."

The man's expression turned icy. "The Prince, you say? My employer did not give his name to the bounty agency."

Quinlan shrugged and drew his knife, toying carelessly with it. "Look, all I know is, there's a job around here somewhere – a well-paying job, from the sound of it." Dropping his casual demeanor suddenly, he raised his knife with a jerk and pointed it at the man's chin. "You wouldn't be trying to cheat me out of a job, would you?"

The turbaned man didn't even blink. "Did the agency send you?"

"Nah." Quinlan sheathed his knife. "I work alone."

"Well, that's too bad." He looked suspicious now. "The job was advertised for teams of bounty hunters."

Quinlan stared thoughtfully upward. "Yeah, I heard about that. Still, I was kind of hoping your boss would have a solo job for me. If not, though . . . I can work with other guys. Long as they can keep up."

Red Turban seemed to come to a decision, because he nodded and gestured him toward the warehouse. "Go on in. My employer will decide whether or not to hire you."

 _Employer? But no one is allowed to speak directly with the Prince,_ Quinlan wondered to himself. _This is too easy. . ._

It was too late to back out, though. A door slid silently open before him, revealing nothing but darkness. A strange whisper seemed to emanate from it, a swirl of invisible blackness in the Force that swooped out and faded. A warning of evil, perhaps. . . Quinlan hesitated for only half an instant before striding forward to step beneath the door.

A faint yellow light clicked on at the far end of the room, revealing a small computer station – but no employer. Where was the Prince?

He closed his eyes briefly, sending out his thoughts. A pinprick of inanimate black flickered somewhere to his left, and he turned to face it. There was a lifeform there, too, but what was it he sensed?

"Ah," whispered a woman's voice from the shadows. "You are no normal bounty hunter, I think."

The accent was familiar, and Quinlan placed it in an instant. The woman spoke very much like Master Fisto. "You're a Nautolan?" he guessed.

"Hmm. And you are a Kiffar with psychometric abilities."

"How . . ." He paused. She wasn't Force-sensitive, that much he could tell. So how did she know he was psychometric?

The shadows shifted, and a purple Nautolan woman stood at the edge of the light. A red crystal – a kyber crystal – gleamed on her forehead.

Quinlan felt his eyebrows contract, and he nearly spoke before remembering that he was supposed to be a simple bounty hunter.

Quinlan blinked and stared at the crystal. "So – what exactly _is_ that?"

"You sensed its presence." The woman was beautiful even by Nautolan standards, but there was something in her large eyes that made him uneasy.

Quinlan forcibly pushed the thought aside. Uneasiness made it hard to concentrate, and he risked his cover and his life by being distracted. "That's impossible," he told her arrogantly. "Psychometrics can't sense things without touching them."

"No," she agreed. "But the _crystal_ is touching you. It touches your mind."

He drew his knife. "I heard the Prince had a job for bounty hunters," he said aggressively. "I didn't come here to deal with a witch."

"The Dathomirian Nightsisters are witches," she said. A red gleam passed through her eyes – or maybe the Force was trying to tell him something. "I am merely the Prince's right hand."

"So, I'll be working for you?" He lowered his knife and shrugged, although his mind was still on the small crystal. "Fine, long as I get paid."

One side of her mouth lifted in a dissatisfied smile. "A mercenary like all the rest, then. I thought you might be something more."

Quinlan stepped back. "Listen, lady, I'm just here for the work . . . and the pay. I heard there was a job here finding antiques, or artifacts – valuable stuff, for the right people."

The woman seated herself at the computer and cast a brief glance at him over one shoulder. "And what else do you know? Do you know that the Prince will not hire those who have worked for Grakkus the Hutt?"

"Nope." Quinlan thought fast. "I, uh. I _was_ at Grakkus' palace earlier today, but only to deliver a message from my previous employer."

"I don't suppose you can tell me what that message was."

He raised his eyebrows. "Bounty hunters live by their reputations, lady. If word got out that I'd broken confidence, I'd never be hired again. Of course. . ."

She waited. "Yes?"

"If you were to pay me ten million credits up front, and then have the Prince hire me as a permanent – employee – I'd be willing to tell you."

The Nautolan laughed and turned to the computer. "I do not want to know _that_ much. What are your terms? Do you have a ship?"

 _Gamble paid off,_ Quinlan thought in relief. He walked towards the computer station, ready to negotiate terms that he might never fulfill. All he had to do, really, was to investigate the Prince . . . and to arrest him, if the chance arose. He'd thought it would be a fairly easy mission – break into the Prince's headquarters, rifle through his business records, find a reason to capture him, and bring him back to Coruscant.

He paused beside the woman, who looked up at him with large black eyes. The red crystal gleamed again, and he tried to ignore it. Kyber crystals were inanimate unless the user was a Force-wielder.

Or – so he'd always heard. And this woman was no Force-wielder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review, if you're so inclined! :)


	3. Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. An update on time for the third consecutive week. Miracles still happen.
> 
> Of course, I probably just jinxed it. . . :D

* * *

Quinlan crossed one ankle over the other and slouched against the computer desk, his elbow resting on top of the large screen. The purple-skinned woman tilted an eyebrow at him. Weird. He'd thought Nautolans didn't _have_ eyebrows.

One corner of her mouth turned upward. "They are not real, of course," she said.

Quinlan shifted, pretending sudden nervousness. "Look, I know you said you aren't a witch, but . . ."

"I am not a mind reader," she said, her long fingers tapping briskly away at the keypad in front of her. The password she typed in was forty-eight characters long. Pretty hard to get through, for any ordinary slicer.

"Uh-huh."

"I am not," she said again. "You, however, were fairly easy to read."

_Whoops. This could be a problem._

Quinlan smiled vaguely. "You know . . . that's kind of insulting. Most people think I'm impossible to read."

She laughed. "Yes, but it is easy to read anyone for certain things. I have drawn similar looks from those familiar with Nautolans many times before."

He felt himself relaxing minutely. "So. What's the job? Red Turban, outside the door, said something about working in teams."

"The Prince prefers teams," she said. "It's harder for his employees to betray him if they're all keeping an eye on each other. Bounty hunters are suspicious by nature."

"Yeah," he said, casting a quick look at her. "With good reason."

"Of course," she said. "After all, most of you make your living doing illegal things."

"And the guys who hire us do illegal things by proxy," he retorted amicably. "Look, I left my ship unguarded. Can we hurry this up?"

"As I said, suspicious by nature," she said, turning back to the screen. "What is your name?"

"Which one?"

She shrugged elegantly. "Most people working for the Prince are well-known, and prefer to use their real names, but perhaps you do not have a reputation yet."

"Not in this part of the galaxy," he admitted, truthfully enough. Once he'd wreaked havoc on the Prince's organization – and, if he were lucky, on Grakkus the Hutt's – he'd have a reputation to rival that of almost any bounty hunter. In the meantime, though . . .

He chewed thoughtfully at his lip. "Fine. For this job, I'll be Quinlan Vos."

She typed it in.

Quinlan smirked. _Pretend to be making up a name, and no one will think it's your real one._

She looked up again, and he quickly altered his expression to something less smug.

"And what is your field of expertise, Vos?"

"I nearly always work alone – infiltration, captures, that kind of thing. Hand-to-hand, strong psychometric abilities, good shot, excellent pilot."

"I see." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Do you have a bounty on your own head?"

"Never been caught, so – nope." _Not apart from the million credits Dooku would pay for my death, but that's different._ "But there _are_ some guys I'd rather avoid. . ."

"Ah." The Nautolan woman smiled. "Before we finalize your payment, then, perhaps I should mention that there are a few very famous members already in the Prince's employ. You've met one of them already – a Corellian named Dengar."

"Oh. Red Turban?"

"Yes. There are two others: a Kyuzo warrior named Embo and a Duros, Cad Bane."

Cad Bane. That wasn't good. He'd recognize Quinlan in an instant. "Bane could be a problem," he said. "I _might_ have cut in on his last bounty."

Sort of. After all, Quinlan and Obi-Wan hadn't been after a bounty when they hunted Ziro the Hutt, but they and Bane had discovered Ziro's corpse at the same time. And it was kind of Obi-Wan's fault they'd gotten into a fight – he never learned to attack _without_ some sort of verbal exchange first.

The woman inclined her head thoughtfully. "Psychometry is a valuable talent, and one which the Prince specifically asked me to look out for. Bane is currently on Nal Hutta, and shouldn't be involved in the job I have in mind for you."

He nodded. "Okay. Since it looks like I'll be working for you, what should I call you?"

"I am Vythia Archane. You may address me however you prefer."

"Vythia. Pretty name. And what's the job?"

Her friendly manner became suddenly business-like. "There is an ancient artifact that my employer wishes us to obtain. It is rumored to be hidden in a labyrinth, deep underground. Psychometry might be the best way to locate it."

"A labyrinth? Isn't that old-fashioned?" he joked, glancing at the entrance to the warehouse. It was still shut. Red Turban, or Dengar or whoever, wasn't around, and he sensed no other lifeforms nearby, but the sensation of being watched was very strong.

Realizing that the woman hadn't answered, he glanced curiously at her. She was staring at nothing, a strange gleam in her eyes. Then she replied, her voice low and reverent. "There has been nothing _new_ on Malachor for thousands of years. . . Not since the Great Scourge."

Quinlan Vos knew his expression hadn't changed, but inwardly his mind felt as though it were on fire. Malachor. The ancient planet of the Sith, where the most infamous of all Sith Temples had been built, and later lost. Malachor, so steeped in the Dark Side that it had been removed from galactic maps throughout the Republic. Malachor, untouched for nearly four thousand years, ever since Darth Tanis' superweapon had exploded and petrified all life on the planet's surface.

* * *

Some hours later, Quinlan Vos took his starfighter out of the atmosphere to make a report to the Jedi Temple. It was standard procedure to let the Council know that he'd at least arrived at his destination alive and in one piece, but normally he didn't have much else to tell them at this stage of a mission.

This time, though . . . A small light blinked, letting him know a connection was being established, and he took a moment to still his whirling thoughts.

The short figure of the Grand Master appeared. _"Master Yoda, this is. Quinlan Vos, safe, are you?"_

"Sort of," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "There have been unexpected developments."

 _"Expected developments, were there?"_ The old Jedi cackled delightedly, then regained his composure. _"The trouble, what is it?"_

Quinlan told him everything – the strange Nautolan woman, the hunt for the artifact that was to take place on Malachor, the fact that his psychometry seemed to be a key point, and the bounty hunters whom he knew to be in the Prince's employ.

 _"Troubling, this is,"_ said Master Yoda when he had finished.

"Yeah, I kind of had the same thought," Quinlan sighed. He didn't describe the sudden rush of fear that had filled him when Vythia spoke about Malachor. Whether it was a foreboding from his connection to the Force or whether he had some superstitious fear of the Sith planet, he couldn't say. It was probably better not to think about it.

_"Complete this mission alone, you must not."_

Quinlan frowned. "But I don't need to actually go to Malachor. All I've got to do is bring the Prince back to Coruscant."

_"Dealing in Sith artifacts, we now know he is. Dangerous for the galaxy, this is."_

"If I capture him, the bounty hunters won't have anyone to pay them and the deal will fall through. Problem solved."

Yoda eyed him. _"So simple, you think this to be?"_

"I mean, yeah. Cut off the head and the snake dies."

 _"The head, the Prince is not."_ Yoda shook his head, his ears drooping slightly. _"Fear, I do, that the mysterious Sith Lord is behind this. Locate him, we must."_

"I think the Prince already has some artifacts at his place," Quinlan said. "I could locate them, see what they can tell me."  
_"Yes,"_ said Yoda. _"Do that first, you should. But do it alone, you should not. Grave danger I sense in your future."_

Quinlan tried to ignore the feeling of building unease that grew in his mind. "Hey," he said flippantly. "You're the one who says, 'always in motion, the future is'."

Yoda huffed. _"Difficult, you are being."_

Despite himself, Quinlan chuckled. "Apologies, Master."

_"Always in motion, the future is, yes; but take foolish risks, you should not. At Toydaria, Master Kenobi's fleet is."_

"Obi-Wan?" Quinlan frowned. "Master Yoda, he'll get both of us caught in no time flat. He's the worst undercover agent the Jedi Order has ever seen."

_"An exaggeration, that is. A worse undercover agent would I be, hmm? And a worse agent would Master Rancisis be?"_

"Yeah, I suppose, but –"

_"Think that he should help you personally, I do not. Busy with establishing the supply base, he has been, but special forces, he has available. The other Jedi Masters, occupied with tracking down Grievous, they are; but aid, perhaps, Obi-Wan could send."_

"Long as he doesn't send clones," Quinlan agreed. "They're the only ones who could possibly be more noticeable than Obi-Wan."

 _"Another exaggeration, that was,"_ Yoda commented. _"Speak with the Council about Malachor, I must. Speak to you later, I will."_

"Okay. I'll call Kenobi and report back when I've found out more."

_"Quinlan Vos. Shrouded is the Force concerning the Sith. Careful, you must be."_

He hadn't exactly been planning on being careless, but – "Yes, Master Yoda," he said. Quinlan bowed his head, and the blue holographic figure vanished.

That was one thing off his list. Now to call Obi-Wan . . .

He punched in the Fleet's high-priority frequency, adding the four-digit code that would reroute his signal to Obi-Wan's fleet.

The call was answered almost immediately by a clone officer in a uniform. _"This is the_ Negotiator. _"_

"This is Quinlan Vos, Jedi Knight."

_"Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"_

"Is General Kenobi there?"

The clone checked something on a screen. _"Not on the ship, sir. He's flying escort for the supply shuttles. I can transfer your call to his fighter, though."_

"Yeah, that'd be good."

The clone disappeared and was replaced by a rotating holograph of the Republic insignia. Quinlan kicked his feet up to rest on the control panel again and put on his most annoying smile.

This was Obi-Wan, after all.

An instant later, Obi-Wan appeared, sitting properly, his hands resting correctly on the steering yoke. _"Quinlan. What's this all about?"_

"Master Yoda thought I should call you."

_"Indeed?"_

"Yeah."

Obi-Wan waited with an obvious attempt at patience, and Quinlan decided to have pity on him. "Long story short, I've got a high-risk mission on Nar Shaddaa, and it looks like I'll need help."

His fellow Jedi hesitated. _"Quinlan, I've been given specific instructions to personally oversee the construction of this base. . . And it's going to take at least a week."_

"Yoda says you've got some special forces under your command."

Obi-Wan's face brightened. _"True. The sector fleet's tied up around Toydaria right now, so they should be available. I can't tell you what their specific skills are, but –"_ He broke off to answer an official-sounding voice. _"Quinlan, I'll have to cut this call short. King Kutuunko is on his way to the landing pad."_

"Wait, you've already landed?"

 _"Yes."_ Obi-Wan sounded confused.

"Then why are you still holding onto that steering yoke like your life depends on it?"

An offended expression crossed Obi-Wan's face. He removed his hands from the yoke, folded them in his lap, and gave no response.

"Rough flight?" sympathized Quinlan, knowing full well it could not have been a rough flight. Flying escort in a non-combat zone was about the easiest job there was, but with Obi-Wan, it just didn't seem to matter. Obi-Wan's dislike of flying was probably Anakin's fault, and Quinlan said so.

After treating Quinlan to one of his best glowers, Obi-Wan reached across to transfer the connection. Another clone in full armor appeared, pointing at something out of sight – presumably, he was directing some activity or other – as he answered the call.

"Hey, Commander," said Quinlan casually.

 _"General Vos,"_ said Cody in a neutral tone. His datapad beeped, and he glanced down at it. _". . .Hm. General Kenobi says you could use some help."_

"He usually thinks so."

Cody continued to watch the datapad for a moment, but then put it away, his helmet tilted in mild exasperation. _"He didn't give any details. Care to elaborate?"_

"Yeah." Quinlan sat upright, growing serious. "Listen, Commander. I was sent to Nar Shaddaa to spy on a powerful crime lord, find out if he's really selling Sith artifacts, and, if so, to bring him to Coruscant. I've discovered that the Sith artifacts part is true, but I've got no way to get to him directly. My investigation so far indicates that he carries out all his transactions through a Nautolan woman named Vythia Archane. No one ever sees the Prince. And that's not all."

He frowned. "Not sure how much of this I'm supposed to tell you."

 _"We're on a specially encrypted channel, sir,"_ Cody reminded him. _"Is it Jedi business?"_

"Yeah. . ." Quinlan considered. The Jedi were serving in this war as generals, and Cody was a senior commander, which meant he technically outranked most of the Jedi, anyway. He smirked at a sudden thought. "If you were a Jedi, you'd be a Knight, is that correct?"

For a long moment, it looked as though the holograph had frozen, but then Cody moved a hand helplessly. _"General, what –?"_

"Point being, you're the same rank as I am."

Cody's hands fell at his sides. _"General Vos,"_ he said slowly. _"Maybe you should –"_

Quinlan interrupted him. "If I'm not supposed to have told you, Yoda will have to take it up with Kenobi, since _he_ transferred the job to you. So – yeah, we're all good."

_". . . Yes, sir. What kind of team will you need?"_

"You tell me. I have to get to the Prince and see if he's got artifacts already stashed away somewhere. I've signed a contract to hunt artifacts down for him, so I can't blow my cover. I might need to go along with the bounty hunter team, which could be a problem."

The clone commander nodded slowly. _"General, I do have a squad currently on Nal Hutta – I can re-task them to assist you. Considering the situation, that might be best."_

Okay, that sounded bad. "Uh – what situation?"

_"Their current mission is to track down a bounty hunter named Cad Bane and find out what he's up to. I understand you and General Kenobi ran into Bane last time you were there."_

Quinlan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Commander, Bane is _working_ for the Prince. If he gets suspicious, this whole mission will be out!"

_"Yes, sir. One moment, I'll call them off right away."_

Cody disappeared, leaving Quinlan alone in the cockpit of his fighter as it drifted in space.

It couldn't ever be easy, could it? Quinlan slouched lower in his seat and fidgeted with his fingerless gloves, snapping them against his hands.

A slow minute passed before Cody reappeared. _"General Vos, I've contacted the squad, and they're pulling back. What coordinates should I give them?"_

"Tell them Hutta Town, main landing platform." He thought for a moment. "I'll tell Grakkus' traffic control lady to expect them. When they're asked for identification, they're to say only 'Quinlan Vos', got it?"

_"Yes, sir. They should be there in a few hours."_

"Right. . ." Quinlan still wasn't sure about these special forces, but – _It's too late now._ He nodded to Cody. "My thanks, Commander."

 _"Always a pleasure, sir."_ Cody signed off.

Quinlan blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. He'd always worked alone, except for those rare occasions where he'd been teamed with a fellow Jedi. These guys, whoever they were, had better be at least as skilled as a padawan.

"Guess I'll find out fast enough," he muttered, feeding power to the engines. It was time to head back to Hutta Town. A little reconnaissance was in order.

* * *

Hunter knelt on the soft ground, a long knife clenched in one hand as he observed the _Havoc Marauder_ through the dusk _._ There were droids on the other side – he could sense them moving from place to place, their electronic signatures faint specks of static at the edge of his mind.

"Can I smash them?" begged Wrecker in a loud whisper.

"Hmm . . ." Hunter tilted his head. "There's only a few. Okay, but keep it quiet."

Honestly, he didn't know if Wrecker knew the meaning of the word, but the Bad Batch did need to get off-planet, and soon.

The big clone charged forward and disappeared into the fog. Hunter stood up and turned around, keeping half his attention on the sounds of ripping metal and yelling droids as Wrecker tore them apart.

The bog was oppressive at this time of day. Long strands of limp moss hung from grey trees, shifting unwillingly at every warm breeze. Oily water lay in every depression in the ground, and yellowish fog spread from the surface, rolling across the landscape. The air was thick. Even through his helmet, Hunter could smell the heat and humidity.

The bog was silent now. Wrecker had finished destroying the droids and was onboard, readying the ship for its next flight.

A harsh, croaking call sounded to his left, and he cast a quick look at the featherless bird that perched above him. It spread pale wings and leaned forward to snap its long beak at him.

Hunter turned back to the bog as the bird cawed again. The squad had been on Nal Hutta for two standard days now, tracking down Bane's whereabouts. The bounty hunter had been preparing to leave the planet when Cody called in.

And now the team was to move to Nar Shaddaa. Cody had given no details, just told them to get away from Bane as fast as possible.

Just as well, in Hunter's opinion. Bane had only been on Nal Hutta to pick up payment from some Hutt and to buy supplies – presumably from an upcoming job.

A beep signaled that he was receiving a long-range comm. _"Hunter,"_ Cody's voice came through.

"Commander. You got further intel for me?"

_"Further instructions, anyway. Go to the landing platform at Hutta Town. You'll be asked for identification, and you're to say 'Quinlan Vos'."_

"Quinlan Vos. Okay. Any reason General Vos is using his real name?"

_"I assume so. Vos is very good at what he does."_

Hunter glanced into the bog again. "You have reservations about him."

 _"He's a little crazy,"_ said Cody diplomatically. _"But that's not what I have reservations about. He'll give you the full briefing, but this mission involves Sith artifacts."_

"Well," said Hunter. "Can't say I know anything about those, but we'll do some research. Good luck with your own mission, Commander Cody."

_"You, too."_

The comm clicked as the connection was broken, and Hunter glanced thoughtfully at the darkening sky. Two figures came out from beneath the trees, and he took a step towards them. "Tech, Crosshair. What took you guys so long?"

Tech, who had a pistol in either hand, lifted them in a slight shrug. "There was an . . . unexpected development."

Crosshair hummed and switched his long rifle from one shoulder to the other. "He means he fell into a pond."

Now that they were closer, it was obvious that Tech was soaked.

Hunter smirked. "How did you manage that?"

"It is quite dark," replied Tech matter-of-factly. "I also believe that Crosshair saw fit not to warn me."

"Is that right?" Hunter led the way back to the ship. "Wrecker, let's get out of here."

"Where are we headed, Sarge?" Wrecker asked, starting the take-off sequence.

"Nar Shaddaa. We're to meet up with a Jedi named Quinlan Vos."

"A Jedi?" asked Tech curiously, setting his helmet on the storage rack.

"Yeah. We don't have much to go on yet. Cody says there are Sith artifacts involved."

Wrecker turned the ship in a wide circle, gaining altitude. "Sith _what?_ "

"Artifacts," said Hunter. "Anyone know something about them? What they have to do with the war?"

"Potentially, they have a good deal to do with the war," said Tech. "The leader of the Separatist armies is a Sith lord, after all."

"Yeah." Hunter moved to the co-pilot's station. "All right, Bad Batch. Let's see what we can find out before we reach Nar Shaddaa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad Batch at last! :)
> 
> Also, I have this strange idea that Quinlan Vos and Chirrut Imwe would get along very well. What do you guys think?


	4. First Meeting

Quinlan Vos sat cross-legged on one wing of his starfighter, a ration bar held in one hand and his datapad in the other. Vythia Archane had just sent him a message.

Quinlan – we will not set out for a few days yet. Stay on the planet and in contact. I will notify you when we are ready to depart. You will not have much warning, so stay ready at all times.

He took a bite and tapped out his reply. Message received. I’ll be around.

After putting away his datapad, he took another bite of the energy bar, chewed with difficulty, and swallowed hard. It lodged halfway down his chest, and he thumped his fist against his armor, grimacing. “Ugh. I should probably have replaced these rations a long time ago . . .”

He felt around for the wrapper. Holding it near his face, he clicked on a tiny flashlight and looked for the expiration date. “Wow. These are kind of old.”

They were more than just ‘kind of’ old – two years and three months past the date of recommended usage, to be exact – so Quinlan gave the rest of his supper up as a lost cause. He fiddled with the half-eaten bar, stretching and twisting it into various shapes. He was just wondering whether he could use it to mend a particularly large crack in the duracrete when lights blinked, far above him. He glanced up to see an unusual-looking transport descending towards him, its two finlike wings folding up. It looked like the team had arrived.

Well, that, or he was in trouble from some local authority or other.

Quinlan stood, brushed the crumbs from his clothes, and chucked the ration bar into the cockpit of his fighter.

The ship headed for his landing pad, coming in way too fast for safety. Either the pilot was drunk, or he was insane, or he was blind. Quinlan was just wondering if he should run for it when the ship cut speed abruptly, swung ninety degrees, and thumped down on the platform, only a few feet away from him. A flight of stairs extended down from the door, which hissed open.

Quinlan brushed his hair out of his face.

A hulking figure in red and dark grey armor appeared in the doorway, studied him for a moment, and turned to holler back into the ship. “Yeah, it’s the right one!”

The very first thing Quinlan was going to teach these guys was what the word ‘stealth’ meant.

He mounted the steps. “Mind if I come aboard?”

The big man stepped aside with a wide-armed gesture. He had an emblem of a skull painted on his right shoulder piece, and his helmet’s design was odd: a set of teeth over the faceplate, and a number ninety-nine on the forehead area.

Quinlan stepped past him into a hallway. On the wall beside him hung a huge, highly detailed star chart of known space. Thin silver pins had been stuck through several planets – perhaps marking where this team had operated so far.

The doors shut, and he cast a quick glance back at them. “Uh . . .”

“General Vos?” a slightly husky voice with an all-too-familiar accent said.

Quinlan sighed, still looking at the chart. “I was hoping not to have clones on this mission. Too noticeable.”

“Too bad,” said the voice.

Quinlan turned to face the speaker, who also wore grey and red armor. He had a skull and a small ninety-nine painted on his right shoulder piece.

At least their armor isn’t obviously clone trooper armor. “You’re the special forces team Commander Cody sent?”

“Well . . . Part of it, anyway,” said the man.

Quinlan frowned. He’d thought that the whole team was coming here together. “So where are the others?”

“In the cockpit.” There was a definite smirk audible in the clone’s voice. “They’ll be here in a minute. I take it you’re General Vos.”

“Yeah.” Quinlan gestured at his lightsaber. “But don’t address me as ‘general’ on this moon or we’ll all find ourselves in trouble real fast.”

“Hm.” The clone removed his helmet. “I’m the team leader. Hunter.”

Quinlan tilted his head to the side. Apart from the eyes, this guy didn’t look all that much like a clone. Not only was his face naturally different in appearance, but he had half of it tattooed like a skull. He wore a dark red sweatband, marked with a skull, over his black, chin-length hair. Quinlan would find that very uncomfortable in a helmet, but Hunter apparently didn’t.

“The big guy is Wrecker,” Hunter said.

Quinlan cast a cautious look at the big man, who had removed his helmet, revealing a bald head, badly scarred on one side. His left eye was white – probably injured when he’d gotten those scars. Quinlan blinked thoughtfully and glanced back at Hunter. “I could be wrong, but so far you don’t look like clones.”

“Got it one, sir,” replied Hunter. “I don’t think that was the original idea, but . . . it’s how we turned out.”

Quinlan considered. “Must be why the commander thought you’d be good for a stealth mission.”

“Partially,” commented a higher voice as another clone entered the hallway, ducking under Wrecker’s elbow. His armor was a mixture of regular and recon trooper armor, and his helmet had been modified to allow for a visor over a pair of yellow-tinted goggles. The armor was also more white than grey, though there were red highlights on the arms and helmet. The design on his right shoulder piece was the same as Hunter’s.

“This is Tech,” Hunter said.

“General,” Tech greeted, removing his helmet, which had a skull painted on either side. He was pale, with short-cut brown hair, and his eyes appeared wide behind his goggles. His voice was precise as he explained his previous comment. “Commander Cody often sends us where he thinks our skills will be the most useful. I suspect that, in this particular instance, our unusual appearance will be also be advantageous.”

“Makes sense,” Quinlan allowed. “And is this all of you?”

“No, there’s one more,” Hunter said, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Hey, Crosshair, quit skulking.”

A tall figure, also wearing dark grey and red armor, detached itself from the wall and glided into place beside Hunter. On his right shoulder piece was painted. . . a skull. Big surprise. It seemed that these guys really liked skulls. On Crosshair’s left shoulder, there was a small ninety-nine. The tall clone was even more pale than Tech, had a crosshair tattooed directly over his right eye – ouch – and had grey, almost white, hair. He was also painfully thin.

Actually, the only one who was basically the same size as most troopers was Hunter, who had a standard height and build. Tech was short and small, Wrecker was towering and muscular, and Crosshair was tall and skinny.

“Hm,” said Quinlan. “So, what do you call yourselves? Ninety-nine?”

“Cody named us Clone Force Ninety-Nine,” replied Hunter, gesturing at the number on his shoulder. “I guess you’d say that’s our official designation. We call ourselves the Bad Batch.”

Quinlan couldn’t help but wonder why. “Okay, good to know.” He glanced at the other three clones. “Names only, for this mission. You’ll have to be careful not to use Hunter’s rank when talking to him. Same goes for me.”

“Simple enough,” said Hunter. “My men don’t call me ‘sarge’, and we don’t call you ‘general’ or ‘sir’ or refer to you as a Jedi.”

“Yeah, especially not that last. Quinlan works fine. Or Vos. . . Whatever.”

Hunter lead the way to a wide room that opened directly into the cockpit. “So, what’s this mission all about? All we know is, it involves artifacts.”

“Sith artifacts,” corrected Tech. He turned to Quinlan, his eyes questioning. “I was unable to find out much about them. The data available is very limited.”

“Yeah, and for good reason.” Quinlan sat down on the nearest crate. “What did you find out?”

“Sith artifacts – or relics, as they are sometimes called – are ancient items that were either created or heavily used by the Sith,” Tech said. “There are several notes about relics such as masks, scrolls, and spirit urns. . . Though there were no indications as to what, exactly, a spirit urn is.”

Quinlan nodded. “Spirit urns are used to contain the ashes of Sith lords.”

Tech blinked.

Crosshair, who was slouching against the wall, took a toothpick from a pouch on his belt and put it between his teeth.

Wrecker glanced between the three of them. “Ashes of Sith lords?”

“Yeah,” Quinlan said. “You know, Sith lord dies, gets cremated, his followers put his ashes in an urn and worship them?”

Wrecker exchanged an uncertain look with Crosshair.

Tech flipped open a hinged piece of his vambrace to reveal a highly sophisticated computer system and began typing furiously.

Hunter seated himself across from Quinlan, rested his forearms on his knees, and regarded the Jedi thoughtfully. “Is that what you’re after? A spirit urn?”

Quinlan shook his head. “I’d better start from the beginning. There’s a crime lord here known as ‘the Prince’ –”

Crosshair sniffed.

“ – who is putting together teams of bounty hunters. Their job is to find and recover Sith artifacts. I don’t know if he’s really intending to sell them to Dooku, but one thing’s for sure: the Prince doesn’t want them for anything good. I’ve been ordered to find out what I can about the whole deal.”

“Infiltration,” suggested Hunter. “We could follow one of the mercenary teams when they go to locate the artifacts.”

“Maybe.” Quinlan studied him. “Trouble is, I’m still trying to figure out how to go about this. I know where the Prince’s headquarters are, and I’ve been hired by his representative.”

“As part of the team?”

“Yeah.”

Hunter nodded. “Any information about the rest of the team?”

Quinlan pulled out his datapad, flicked through the screen to reach Vythia’s message, and showed it to him. “My orders had just arrived when you guys showed up. As for the team – I know she’s hired a few well-known bounty hunters. Some Kyuzo warrior named Embo, a human named Dengar, and Cad Bane. But Bane isn’t part of the team I’ll be on, apparently. What did you find out?”

“Not much.” Hunter shrugged slightly. “He picked up an overdue payment from some Hutt named Grobba, got high-quality maintenance and repairs done on his pistols, jetpacks, and ship, and bought a lot of specialized supplies.”

“Would he have any reason to be suspicious if he saw you again?”

Hunter thought for a moment. “Not that I know of. He noticed us, but we were resupplying, just like everyone else in town. We had a bit of trouble with droids, but Bane also shot down a number, so . . .”

“Wait a sec,” said Quinlan. “What were droids doing on Nal Hutta?”

“Grobba bought a few hundred to serve as security.” Hunter sounded bored. “They didn’t do much good – too many people decided to use them as target practice.”

“Yeah!” added Wrecker, and laughed. “This one storekeeper was talking to us, and a droid walks by and he shoots it. Pretty good shot, for an old half-blind Twi’lek.”

Tech looked up, giving his wrist a flick to close the miniature computer he’d built into his vambrace. “At least he had the sense to shoot from inside. You just went into the street and smashed the rest of the patrol.”

“Aw, come on,” grumbled Wrecker. “I was bored! And you had fun, too.”

“I don’t think that ‘fun’ is quite the correct word.”

“Tech!” Wrecker sounded aggrieved. “It was the ‘correct word’ this morning! You said that wrecking droids was fun.”  
Quinlan watched with interest as Tech put his nose ever so slightly in the air. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did!” Wrecker stood to his full height and towered over Tech. “Right after you shot up that old security droid!”

“No, you were the one who said, ‘wrecking droids is a lot more fun than hanging around and waiting for Hunter’,” insisted Tech. “I simply agreed.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“It is not. I did not say that wrecking droids was fun. I said ‘yes’. That was all.”

Wrecker deflated for a moment, but then brightened. “But if you agreed, then that means that fun IS the correct word after all!”

“I agree with the overall sentiment, but I still do not think ‘fun’ is quite accurate.”

“Aw, now you’re just being difficult.”

Crosshair removed the toothpick from his mouth with a world-weary sigh and flicked it into a receptacle some twenty feet away. “Stop acting like children,” he snapped.

Wrecker rounded on him. Crosshair straightened, apparently eager for a fight, but Hunter stepped between them. “All right, fellas, cut it out.”

Crosshair resumed his slouch and Wrecker sat down without a word. Hunter raised an eyebrow at Tech, who looked mildly apologetic for perhaps half a second.

Quinlan watched them curiously. They obeyed Hunter readily enough here, but what about in a combat situation? And could they really pull off stealth missions, or was that too much of a risk?

He stood up. “How many missions have you been on?”

“Four so far, all successful.” Hunter didn’t say ‘sir’, so at least he’d remembered that one all right.

Still . . . Quinlan rubbed his jaw. This wasn’t going to be easy. “I’ll let you know the worst right off.”

Four pairs of eyes focused on him. 

“It’s nothing impressive, more’s the pity.” Quinlan leaned back on his hands. “Biggest problem – I work alone, or with other Jedi, and never more two of them. Also, I usually know what the mission entails before jumping into it . . . So, yeah. I have no idea where to put you guys or what I’m even aiming for yet. And I won’t know until I do more recon.”

Hunter folded his arms, a glint of something in his eyes. It might have been concern, amusement, or even both at once. “Well,” he said. “You can’t put us to work until you know what we do.”

Quinlan cast a quick glance at the ceiling, wondering if he looked as foolish as he felt. Probably.

“True enough,” he answered. “Guess we’d better start there.”

Hunter looked him straight in the eyes for a moment, as though testing him. It was an oddly Jedi-like thing to do. No – maybe it was something that a lot of people did, and Quinlan just hadn’t observed it in others before because he mostly associated with either Jedi or criminals. Criminals didn’t look one in the eye unless they were making a threat.

The other commandos hadn’t missed the byplay. Even Wrecker, who seemed slower on the uptake than the others, was observing him. For Quinlan, being watched usually meant he was in danger, but this time . . . well, he didn’t know what it meant.

This is going to take some getting used to. Guess it’s first things first.

The Jedi Knight settled himself on the crate, crossing his legs in a meditative posture. “Okay, Hunter. Fill me in.”

Hunter nodded casually. “We’re an experimental unit of genetically modified commandos. Wrecker’s got the most obvious difference, physically. He’s – strong.” He cast the big clone a look. “I don’t know how strong. So far. . . Last mission, a piece of durasteel the size of your starfighter almost landed on some civilians. Wrecker caught it and threw it into the Seppies’ ranks.”

“Took out a lot of droids,” Wrecker added gleefully, cracking his knuckles.

“Yeah.” Hunter smirked appreciatively, then got back to business. “Crosshair’s got exceptional eyesight. He never misses. He’s taken out a tactical droid at eight kilometers.”

Quinlan measured eight kilometers in his mind. Wow.

Hunter elbowed Tech, who was perched on the same crate. “Tech here is our computer specialist. His programs can get through just about anything you can think of.”

“And you?” Quinlan asked, after a short pause.

Hunter shrugged. “I can feel electromagnetic impulses.”

Quinlan raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hunter tilted his head to one side. “Best guess at explaining it – Cody says I can sense droids like Jedi sense lifeforms. What about you?”

“What about me?” Quinlan was occupied with wondering how any of these skills were even possible.

“What’s your special skill?” Hunter asked.

The Jedi eyed him carefully. “What makes you think I have one?”

“You’ve never led as a general. You’ve been out on high-risk, high-gain missions since the beginning of the war, mostly on your own. Solo missions are dangerous, even for Jedi. . . So, you must have a special skill that makes the risk worth it.”

Well, looks like these guys did their research on me. “I’m psychometric.”

Tech straightened interestedly. “I wondered about that. Isn’t psychometry exclusive to certain Kiffar?”

“As a race, yeah, but some Jedi also have the ability. I’m a Kiffar and a Jedi, which means I’ve got a stronger level of ability than most. It’s, uh, good and bad.”

“Why?” asked Crosshair abruptly.

“Uh. . . Well, to simplify, the way it works is that I touch something and get these impressions of the last person who held or used it . . . Emotions, surroundings, that kind of thing. I can’t do it with everything, though.”

“Impressions,” repeated Hunter, narrowing his eyes.

This guy cuts right down to the center.

Quinlan nodded. “Say someone owns a weapon, and they use it a lot, or like it a lot, or are feeling a very strong emotion when using it. I’m more likely to get an impression from that than I am from something that wasn’t used much, or wasn’t cared about. Force-sensitives leave stronger impressions.”

“There are a good many variables, then,” Tech said.

Quinlan fidgeted with his gloves. “Too many.”

Crosshair and Hunter watched him, obviously waiting for him to explain.

Quinlan frowned. “The sensations can be a flicker, just enough to point me in the right direction. . . or.” He shrugged. “They can be overpowering.”

The last time that had happened was still fresh in his mind. The seething, jealous hate that Zabrak woman had felt for her husband before she murdered him had burned in his mind for days afterwards.

He came back to the present and saw that Hunter was observing him . . . not cautiously or worriedly, just – observing.

Quinlan shifted and stood up. “So. Far as this mission is concerned, I’ve got to find a way into the Prince’s headquarters that’ll let me access the artifacts he already has.”

Crosshair walked over, resting the end of a long rifle over his forearm. “Cody didn’t send us here to wait on the sidelines.”

“He sent us here to assist the general,” Hunter corrected him mildly. “If that means waiting on the sidelines, that’s what you’ll do.”

“Aw, nuts!” Wrecker spoke under his breath, but was still clearly audible. 

Crosshair switched the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, eyeing Quinlan in an unfriendly way.

Hunter turned back to Quinlan. “We won’t be of any use to you sitting here. But it’s your decision.”

Quinlan thought about the darkened headquarters and the sensation of being watched from the shadows. “It would be best to get you guys hired by Vythia.”

“You said she is a Nautolan?” Tech hopped down from his perch. “I’ll use the ship’s computer to run a search on her. Perhaps I can discover something useful about this Vythia Archane.”

That . . . was actually a good idea. Quinlan nodded. “Knock yourself out, Tech.”

“Hey!” protested Wrecker.

Quinlan raised a hand. “I meant for him to run all the searches he wants, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

“How are we supposed to get ourselves hired?” Hunter mused aloud. “I don’t know if we can convince her that we’re a team of bounty hunters. Or if she’d be willing to hire guys who were new to the job.”

Quinlan considered for a moment. “Well . . .” He smirked. “Best way to get yourself hired is to get yourselves noticed. Best way to do that is to get in trouble with the authorities. Best way to do that is to wreak havoc on Grakkus the Hutt’s business – which I wanted to do anyway. . .” He rested his chin in one hand. “Uh, only on his illegal businesses, of course. So. You guys think you’re up to the task?”

All four of the commandos exchanged glances.

“Ha! That sounds like my kind of mission!” yelled Wrecker, slapping Crosshair on the back.

The sniper lurched forward a few steps and retaliated by jabbing the end of his rifle into the bigger clone’s stomach.

“Our ship is named the Havoc Marauder for a reason,” Hunter said coolly, but his eyes were gleaming with the challenge.

Quinlan tilted his head, curious. “Oh, yeah? Because you always cause havoc?”

“Yes and no,” Tech interjected, not looking up from where he worked at something on his datapad. “Originally it was just named the Marauder. Hunter changed it to the Havoc Marauder after the Battle of Kamino.”

“Ah . . .” Quinlan didn’t quite see how that was relevant. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

Crosshair set his rifle against the wall. “Commander Havoc died in that battle.”

“Yeah.” Hunter folded his arms. “He was an ARC trooper. One of the best. So, we added his name to our ship.”

Quinlan sensed an unspoken story behind those words, but merely nodded.

“And, of course,” Tech went on. “The commander chose his name because he always caused havoc among the droid ranks.”

“And the ARC ranks,” cut in Hunter with a dry smile. “And the Kaminoans.”

“Ha!” Wrecker grabbed his helmet and jammed it on his head. “Yeah.”

Quinlan realized what Tech was trying to say. “And now you live up to his name.”

Tech glanced briefly up from his work. “That is the general idea, yes.”

Hunter drew a long knife and spun it lazily. “So . . . What kind of businesses are illegal on a place like Nar Shaddaa?”

“Eh – good point.” Quinlan thought. “Anything you can get away with is technically legal here. Let’s take a different route. Concentrate on the immoral instead of the illegal.”

“Hmm.” Hunter looked intrigued. “Give us a few hours." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I kept everyone in character, but please let me know if you noticed something off . . . :) Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also . . . Does anyone know how I can post a piece of fanart that has NOT been posted to the internet before? Thank you!


	5. Initial Objective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a chapter entirely from Hunter's point of view. . . :)

* * *

Hunter stood at the edge of the landing platform, gazing out over Hutta Town. All natural light had vanished by now, but large portions of the multi-layered city glowed an odd, dark blue, broken here and there by neon signs which flashed orange, pink, green or yellow.

Dropping to one knee, Hunter shut his eyes. The constant buzz in his mind was only noticeable when he concentrated on it, and it couldn't tell him much at the moment. He and the others were surrounded by millions of frequencies, but then, they'd already known that. Nothing useful there.

General Vos had gone to scout out one of the bigger marketplaces, hoping to pick up some information that would allow Bad Batch to move in on Grakkus. He'd been gone for a couple of hours, and would return soon.

Tech had sliced into the air control tower and scanned through hundreds of recorded transmissions. He'd located one between an agent of Grakkus and Cad Bane, who had arrived to collect payment for something involving a Hutt named Ziro.

That part wasn't important, but the meeting place Grakkus had set might be, so Wrecker and Crosshair had gone off to investigate it.

A faint footstep sounded behind him. Hunter didn't need to hear it to know that it was Tech. The number of electronic devices he carried spoke for him.

"Tech. What've you got?"

Tech sat down beside him and dangled his legs over the platform's edge. "I will need to get inside Grakkus the Hutt's palace before I can access his transaction records."

"His security's too high?"

"Not exactly. I accessed his holonet-capable devices easily enough, but his records do not seem to be stored on any of them. It is possible that there is a second layer of hidden security protecting the records, but I'd have to risk detection." He poised his fingers over his datapad. "Shall I?"

"No, let's hold off on that for the moment."

They stood there in relative silence for a few moments. A random thought struck Hunter, so he pressed the comm on his helmet. "Crosshair, can you see us?"

There was a faint click, and the sniper replied. _"Tech is sitting directly above a landspeeder."_

"Hm. No kidding." Hunter dropped flat on his stomach, slid a knee over the edge, and clutched at the platform with one hand so that he could lean far out. There was, indeed, a speeder balanced precariously on the ledge. "Wonder who put that there?"

Wrecker cut in, sounding worried. _"Watch it, you're gonna fall!"_

"Don't worry, Wrecker." Hunter sat up again. If Crosshair could see the speeder, which was half-hidden on either side by support pillars . . . He focused on a towering building a kilometer away. It was either that one, or the even taller one some three miles away. "Are you using your rifle?"

 _"No,"_ Crosshair replied scornfully.

The closer building, then. Hunter stood, automatically calculating angles. The platform would hide the speeder if Crosshair were any higher than . . . He lifted his rifle, pointing it at the second-to-highest floor. "Use your scope. Check my aim."

There was an instant of silence. _"If you fired, you'd hit the ceiling on the far left of this room,"_ the sniper answered. _"Why?"_

Hunter put his gun away. "Just killing time. You guys finished over there?"

 _"Yeah,"_ said Wrecker. _"Nothing, just like you thought. Boring!"_

 _"The lift access records indicate that no one's entered this floor in nearly three standard weeks,"_ added Crosshair.

"It was worth checking out. Get back here. We'll try somewhere else next."

Tech braced one hand against the duracrete and hopped up. "I'd like to see if I can get that speeder started."

"Yeah, how about you don't?" Hunter turned back to the _Havoc Marauder._ "Wonder when he'll be back."

"By 'he', I presume you mean Quinlan Vos."

"Who else?" Hunter switched comm frequencies. "Vos, you there?"

The Jedi's voice sounded bored when he replied. _"Y'know, I don't get it. If capturing and selling people is legal, why do the Hutts go to so much trouble to hide their prisons?"_

Hunter wandered back toward the ship. "So no one can rescue the prisoners."

 _"Ugh, you're probably right."_ The comm crackled with a loud sigh. _"Anyway. I've finished up this area of the market. The other guys find anything?"_

"No. We'll need to get into the Hutt's palace, though."

_"Make your plans. I'll join you shortly."_

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Vos cut communications.

Tech, too busy typing to walk, stayed outside. Hunter switched back to his squad's channel, entered the ship, and moved to the cockpit to pull up maps of the palace.

As far as the building itself was concerned, the setup was pretty straightforward. It wouldn't be hard to get in and find a terminal. Getting in and finding a terminal without being caught, though – that was another matter entirely. From what Tech's programs were telling him, this palace was under high security.

He was still studying the map when a sudden, quiet commotion on the landing platform indicated his teammates' return. Tech entered the cockpit first, tapping away and ignoring the shoving contest going on behind him.

Then Crosshair got flattened against the wall by Wrecker's arm, which apparently settled the fight for the moment, because Wrecker gave a loud, "HA!" and stumped over to join Hunter and Tech. Crosshair followed a moment later, and all three gathered around Hunter, who stared patiently at them.

Before he could speak, Wrecker pointed at a flashing indicator on the radar. "Hey, he's back."

The blinking green dot hovered high above the landing platform diagram. It had just begun to descend when the door hissed open. All four commandos whipped around to face the entrance, weapons raised.

Quinlan Vos stopped short, raising his hands. "Whoa, what the heck."

Hunter lowered his weapon. "Your ship is still in the air."

"Yeah. And. . .?"

Crosshair sighed impatiently. " _Why_ is it still in the air?"

" _Oh._ I hit the automated landing sequence and jumped out. Saves time." He rubbed his nose thoughtfully and folded his arms. "So, what'd you guys find out?"

Hunter turned back to the radar. The ship had still been a good twenty meters in the air when Vos entered the room. He exchanged a meaningful look with Tech, who blinked in apparent innocence.

Bad Batch's youngest member would never admit that his landings were insanely dangerous and highly illegal, no matter how many times the other members of his squad were sent flying by his sudden cuts in speed.

Back when Cody had met the Bad Batch, he'd assumed that Tech was the least insane member of the squad.

_And wow, was he ever wrong._

Hunter turned back to the business at hand and flicked on the holotable. "We've got the diagnostics for Grakkus' palace. It looks like he's got a lot of guards, which is a problem –"

"Why?" Quinlan Vos twisted his mouth to one side. "Thought you guys said you were highly successful."

" _Always_ successful," Tech said.

Wrecker cracked his knuckles, giving the Jedi a threatening look, and Crosshair's eyes narrowed darkly.

"Which is a _problem_ ," Hunter repeated, "because we'll be alerting everyone to our presence if we go in the easy way."

"Yeah, but we want that," Quinlan said.

"We _don't_ want that," argued Tech. "At least, not right away. There is a high number of well-trained bounty hunters in Grakkus the Hutt's employ. If they are sent after us, this mission could very well be over before it begins."

"Yeah, but I could always hang around and keep them busy while you get the intel."

Hunter rested one hand on his waist and pointed at the hologram. "You said you couldn't risk being seen because Vythia is probably watching you. This is a simple data retrieval mission: in and out. We can't cause trouble for Grakkus unless we get more intel."

The Jedi Knight frowned. "I suppose that makes sense. How soon can you get started?"

"Now." Hunter drew his vibroblade from his vambrace and powered it up briefly to check that all was in order. "We're going to land on the roof and go in that way. Looks like there's a one-man lift in the center."

"It works, too," said Quinlan.

Hunter wasn't quite sure what to make of the Jedi. Vos made suggestions that seemed unsound, but he was supposed to be an incredibly skilled investigator. He argued points that hadn't even been made, and then quickly switched to agreeing. In short, he acted like no other superior officer Hunter had ever seen – not that there had been many, but still. Vos didn't even seem to realize his rank was a lot higher than Hunter's.

In fact, he seemed pretty willing to let the Bad Batch do as they wanted. This was appreciated . . . and concerning. . .

But there wasn't anything Hunter could do about that, so he gave up on figuring out Quinlan Vos for the moment. "We'll get going. Want to join us for the ride?"

"I'm going to get supplies, actually," Quinlan said. "That way I'll have credit transfer records at the same time you guys have getting into trouble records. You know, added insurance so Vythia doesn't make the connection."

So he _could_ think like a secret forces operator. Hunter filed this information away for later consideration. "Okay. Bad Batch! Move out."

Crosshair took the co-pilot's seat, and Tech the pilot's seat. Once Quinlan Vos had left, Hunter tapped Tech on the head and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Out, Tech. I'm flying this round so we don't get arrested by traffic control."

Tech rolled his eyes and complied. "So we don't get arrested by the non-existent traffic control, you mean."

"Yeah." Hunter initiated the take-off sequence and turned to look at his squad mates. "Okay, listen up. We don't want to be caught by Grakkus. In and out, _quietly_. I mean it, Wrecker."

Wrecker groaned. "Why do we always get boring missions?"

"Because," said Tech.

Hunter waited, but no further explanation was forthcoming. Apparently Tech thought that 'because' was a complete answer. Hunter gave a mental shrug and continued. "We want information on Grakkus' income. Tech, you're in charge of getting it. Wrecker, you cover him. Crosshair and I will do a little recon of our own."

The sniper looked morosely pleased.

A few seconds later, the palace was in view. Hunter hit the decelerator and brought the ship one traffic level down. "Closing in. Everyone clear for entry?"

"Yep, Sarge." Tech put away his datapad. "Ready and waiting."

Hunter landed gently on the roof and put the ship on standby.

Crosshair eyed him. "I thought you said we didn't want to be noticed."

"Engine trouble," Hunter said. "You guys stay out of sight for a minute."

He removed his helmet, left the ship, opened an access panel, and was busily fiddling with some wires when a lavender Twi'lek girl approached.

He turned to face her, one hand on his pistol and the other half-raised, the picture of a nervous and unlucky bounty hunter. "Hey. . ."

She blinked large eyes. "The most wise Grakkus demands to know what you are doing here."

"I had to make a forced landing," he explained. "I was kind of hoping he wouldn't notice before I could leave."

"He will want to speak with you," she said.

"Look, tell Grakkus I'm really sorry." Hunter gestured at the wires, which were now sparking terribly thanks to a well-placed power surge. Tech was going to kill him. "I'll get out of here as soon as I can fix the problem."

"He will want to speak with you and your crew," she said.

"I don't have a crew. . ." Tech had a way of fooling scanners into thinking that there were no life signs on board. "It won't take me long – I can do a patch job in a couple of minutes."

"He wishes to speak with you."

 _This girl doesn't say much, does she?_ Hunter rubbed nervously at his head. "Is that really necessary?"

"You must accompany me."

Hunter nodded reluctantly. "Okay, okay. . . Just – I hope he won't impound my ship or anything. . ."

The Twi'lek gave no comment, but led him to the one-man lift and gestured for him to get on it.

Hunter checked that the secure channel to his team was open and then stepped onto the lift, which slowly descended into a dark room.

An assassin droid met him. One level of its segmented head swiveled to observe him. "Please place your weapons on this shelf."

 _"I suppose that was our cue,"_ Crosshair muttered in Hunter's earpiece.

"Sure," Hunter said to the droid and to Crosshair. He set his pistol and vibroblade on the shelf, which had a built-in scanner. "Now what?"

"Come with me." The droid walked down a hall, joints squeaking. Hunter followed, listening to the quiet updates from his team. The female Twi'lek had left the roof, Wrecker had gotten in, Crosshair and Tech were in.

 _"Want us to grab your weapons?"_ Wrecker checked.

Hunter reached idly up to adjust his sweatband, simultaneously pressing the hidden transmitter twice for 'negative'. Then the door ahead of him slid open, and he got his first glimpse of Grakkus the Hutt.

"A human," the huge alien said, and moved closer on clinking cybernetic legs.

 _That is_ seriously _weird._

"Your ship has engine trouble?" Grakkus asked. "Unfortunate that you are traveling alone. . . isn't it?"

"It won't take me long to fix," Hunter insisted. "And, uh, how do you know I'm traveling alone?"

"You are naïve if you think that I would believe your story without checking." The Hutt settled his bulk across a wide platform.

 _"Hm,"_ commented Tech. _"He is naïve if he thinks his outdated scanners can compete with my programming."_

"Uh, yeah, I suppose." Hunter rested his weight on one leg and tapped his fingers against one of his greaves. "What do you want with me?"

"There is an airfield only a few minutes away," Grakkus said slowly. "Why did you not land there?"

"I didn't want to risk flying that far."

 _"We found a terminal,"_ Crosshair said. _"Where should I meet you?"_

Hunter held up both hands. "I don't want to bother you, Grakkus. Can I just collect my weapons and leave?"

 _"I'm on my way to the lift,"_ acknowledged Crosshair.

"No." Grakkus gestured to the assassin droid, who turned to face Hunter. "Make sure that this human has no hidden weapons or devices."

Hunter rubbed his head again, cutting off communications with his squad just as the whirring of a scanner started.

A moment later, the droid turned back. "His weapons were unusual, but he has nothing else."

"You are a bounty hunter."

"Yeah . . ." Hunter didn't have to try hard to fake nervousness now. Grakkus was looking as though he'd just won the sweepstakes.

"You would not be working for a Serennian known as the Prince, would you?"

"Who's the Prince?" Hunter shook his head. "Look, all I want to do is get my ship repaired and find some work."

"And the Prince is offering work." Grakkus narrowed his yellow eyes. "So am I, to the right people. Someone is investigating the Prince right now."

"Okay . . .?"

Grakkus stood slowly. "I do not trust this person to tell me when he has infiltrated the Prince's headquarters."

Hunter considered. "So – you want me to keep an eye on him?"

"I want you to find a way to work with him. As soon as he has evidence that can convict the Prince, report to me. You will be . . . well paid."

"Sounds simple enough." Hunter cast Grakkus a suspicious look. "So what's the catch? Why hire someone you know nothing about?"

The assassin droid swiveled to face him. "Your ship matches nothing in the database here at the palace of Grakkus the Wise. You are unfamiliar in this sector of space, and will therefore be unfamiliar to the Prince, as well as to the investigator."

Hm, sounded like the droid was the one who thought up plans for Grakkus. Not entirely surprising.

"Okay." Hunter turned back to Grakkus. "Again, what's the catch?"

"The investigator might be someone you are unwilling to work with," said the Hutt slowly. A satisfied smirk crossed his wide face. "But if you wish to leave my palace, you must agree to my terms."

"Looks like I don't have much choice," Hunter sighed. "What's the deal?"

"There is a Kiffar Jedi somewhere on this moon," Grakkus said. His eyes widened in pleasure at Hunter's shocked expression. "Unusual, isn't it?"

"A – Jedi?" Hunter repeated. "But –"

"His name is Quinlan Vos," Grakkus said. "He is investigating the Prince. I will give you the coordinates that I gave to him, and you will tell him that I have sent you to help."

Hunter overcame his genuine surprise and nodded again. "Okay, okay. So – all I've got to do is help him out until he's ready to move in on the Prince, and then let you know?"

"Correct." Grakkus waved an arm. "Give him back his weapons and let him return to his ship."

Hunter was mildly surprised that Grakkus hadn't even asked his name. Maybe the Hutt depended on his fearful reputation to keep any hirelings in line.

"Just like that?" he asked. "What if, uh, I decide to just leave Nar Shaddaa?"

"I will put a bounty on your head."

 _Oh._ "Right. . . Yeah, okay. I'll get in touch with this Vos."

"You had better." Grakkus turned away, and Hunter followed the droid back to the lift, his mind spinning at the strange turn of events.

This was going to be a problem.

He picked up his weapons and stepped onto the lift. The droid activated it and clanked away. The minute it was out of sight, Hunter swung down, hung by his fingers from the edge of the lift, and dropped softly to the ground.

Crosshair appeared out of nowhere. "What was that all about?" he muttered.

Hunter considered. "Let's just say this mission got a lot more complicated." He turned his transmitter back on. "Grakkus just hired me to keep an eye on Quinlan Vos."

 _"What?!"_ yelled Wrecker.

Hunter flinched.

_"Oh, man! This is gonna be a disaster!"_

"Keep quiet!" hissed Crosshair.

Wrecker subsided into grumbling, and Hunter continued. "Sounds like Grakkus doesn't have a hold on Vos' position, though."

 _"That is good,"_ said Tech. _"I'm accessing the information now, Hunter. What am I looking for?"_

"Anything we can use."

_"Understood."_

Hunter closed his eyes for a moment, visualizing the maps he'd viewed. There should be a stairway leading down just off this hallway. Tapping Crosshair on the arm, he headed towards the stairs. "Anyone aware of our presence?"

 _"Not yet,"_ said Tech. _"Information downloaded. I'm monitoring internal communications, and there is nothing as of yet."_

"How about life forms? Security measures?"

_"Nothing in your immediate vicinity."_

Hunter stopped at the top of the stairs.

Crosshair knelt, rifle raised to his shoulder as he used the scope to survey the darkness below them. He shook his head. "Just an ordinary stairway."

"Uh-huh." Something was setting Hunter's nerves on edge. He narrowed his eyes at a particular step about halfway down. "There's some sort of current running through there."

 _"It is possible that there are traps that do not run off the main power grid,"_ Tech said quickly. _"There are plenty of light mines that have their own power sources."_

"Understood." Hunter checked his chrono and turned away from the stairs. "I'm supposed to have the ship off here in the next couple of minutes. You guys meet back up at the lift. I'll fly directly over you."

"Not much in the way of recon," Crosshair said as they went back.

"I know. Let me tell you, I wasn't planning on getting hired by a Hutt." Hunter jumped, catching the shaft of the lift. "Don't activate the lift. It's probably being monitored."

Crosshair slung his rifle over one shoulder and climbed up after him. He waited at the top of the shaft, and Hunter checked the roof of the palace carefully. "Tech, is the ship secured?"

 _"There is one camera,"_ Tech said. _"The front of the ship is almost filling it. You should be able to get by unnoticed."_

"Grakkus needs to update his security," Hunter said. He hopped out, sprinted across the roof, and entered through the side door. The job he'd done on the wires earlier would make it impossible for him to retract the landing gear, but he wasn't traveling far.

He started the ship, took off, and flew slowly toward the lift shaft. As he neared it, he lowered the steep boarding ramp and watched through the side viewport.

Crosshair was crouched just outside the lift. He ran to meet the ship, swinging easily onboard. Just as the ship was passing over the opening in the roof, Tech came flying out and clutched desperately at the bottom step of the ramp. He got one knee over and crawled up the stairs, looking thoroughly disgruntled. Wrecker vaulted out of the shaft, sprinted after the ship, and clambered on at the last possible instant.

They came into the cockpit, Tech's voice high with disapproval as he berated Wrecker for throwing him onto the ship. "I am quite capable of getting onboard by myself!"

Wrecker guffawed. "Yeah, but you were taking too long."

Crosshair took off his helmet, rolled his eyes, put a toothpick in his mouth, and joined Hunter. "What now?"

"Now we wait for General Vos to show up so we can tell him what's happened."

Tech sat down, still looking flustered, and pulled out his datapad. As he began sorting through the records he'd just obtained, Hunter piloted the ship back to the landing pad, thoughtfully considering the mission. Objective one was completed, but he had no idea how many objectives there would be.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I was not planning on having Grakkus hire Hunter. Just another piece of an increasingly complicated puzzle.
> 
> I'm absolutely going to regret this, I can tell . . . :D
> 
> Reviews are greatly appreciated! :)


	6. Grievance with Grakkus

Quinlan Vos stared blankly at Hunter, wondering if he'd heard wrong. "Hang on. You got hired by _Grakkus_? How and why?"

"To keep an eye on you." Hunter looked up from the charge he was wiring. "Grakkus thought I was a mercenary. He hired me to assist you with your investigation and to tell him when you managed to infiltrate the Prince's headquarters. Oh, and he threatened to put a bounty on my head if I didn't. We might need to watch out for that."

Quinlan slid down into a cross-legged position on the floor, leaned back against the wall, and groaned theatrically. "You've gotta be _kidding_ me."

Hunter shook his head and pressed a button on the charge. It glowed green, and he tossed it to Wrecker. "Here, put this with the others."

Quinlan glanced around the cargo hold and cockpit area as he considered the news Hunter had brought. Crosshair was perched on a munitions crate, silently sorting through a heap of highly reflective disks. Three different computer systems were running scans and sorting the data from the palace while Tech bounced back and forth between the screens, typing a command here and recording something there. What the heck he was even doing, Quinlan didn't know, but presumably it was something useful.

Hunter threaded a red wire beneath a blue one and set to work soldering the connection. Wrecker seated himself on a crate next to Quinlan, pulled out a wickedly serrated vibroknife, and adjusted something in the handle.

Quinlan, still sitting cross-legged, drew his own extendable blade and twirled it idly between his fingers as he stared up at the ceiling, thinking over the mission.

On this side of Nar Shaddaa were Grakkus the Hutt and mercenaries. Grakkus had more or less hired Quinlan to infiltrate the Prince's operations; hired Hunter to infiltrate Quinlan's operations; and, probably, hired bounty hunters to keep an eye on Hunter.

On the opposite side of the moon were Vythia Archane, the Prince, and several more bounty hunters. Quinlan needed to make sure that Vythia hired the Bad Batch, but didn't find out that he knew the Bad Batch; didn't find out that Quinlan was indirectly working for Grakkus; and didn't find out that Hunter was supposed to be working for Grakkus by working for Quinlan. Or – something.

Quinlan sniffed loudly and hopped up, sheathing his knife. "This is stupid."

Hunter simply watched him, as though waiting for him to say something else.

Before Quinlan could explain, or, more accurately, continue his complaint, Crosshair sat upright and flicked one of the shiny metal discs across the room. It stuck to the wall near one of the screens.

"That's _magnetized!"_ Tech yelped, diving across the room. "Don't put it near the computer!"

Crosshair looked smug. Tech ripped the disc from the wall and flung it back at the sniper, who caught it one-handed.

"Cut it out," Hunter intoned, going back to his work.

Quinlan vaulted over the crate and joined Crosshair. "What exactly are those for?"

"I use them to deflect and amplify rifle shots," the sniper said, shoving a small pile of them to one side. He put the others in his pack while Quinlan studied the rejected pieces.

"They've got to be placed pretty precisely, huh?"

"Not if I use a lot of 'em." Crosshair slid off the crate.

"I found it!" cried Tech.

Everyone turned to regard him. Tech didn't appear to notice, though; his nose was practically glued to the main computer screen.

Hunter set aside his explosive charge, gave Wrecker a warning look for some reason, walked over to Tech, folded his arms, and said patiently, "Found what, Tech?"

"Information on Vythia?" suggested Quinlan.

Tech shook his head, finally looking up at the others. "As far as Nar Shaddaa is concerned, there are no public records about anyone named Vythia Archane. For that matter, neither are there any records about purple-skinned Nautolan females. There _is_ one for a green female – a planet-wide bounty – but it was posted nearly twelve standard years ago and hasn't been updated since. I could try a deeper scan, but it would take some time to compile results."

"Never mind," said Quinlan. "It was kind of a long shot, and if she's got any records they'll be the kind she doesn't want employees to find."

Tech adjusted his goggles. "All right, then. I think I've located the information we need to cause trouble for Grakkus."

Quinlan clapped his hands together. "Okay, awesome. What've we got?"

Tech turned on the holoprojector and plugged his datapad in. A blue, multi-layered map appeared over the table. "This is a current map of Hutta Town. _This_ is a clearinghouse –" A wide building near the palace turned yellow. "– which belongs to Grakkus."

"A clearinghouse." Quinlan leaned closer. "For what?"

"Everything he has a hand in." Tech unplugged his datapad. "Specifically, there is a shipment of new slaves from Kadavo which is due in less than two standard hours."

"Kadavo," Hunter mused. "Never heard of it."

"It's in Wild Space," Quinlan told him. "Part of the Zygerrian Slave Empire. They've got several processing facilities there."

"Let's add it to our list of things to destroy!" Wrecker said enthusiastically.

Quinlan cocked an eyebrow. "You have a list of things to destroy?"

"Yes," Tech said precisely. "But getting back to the immediate problem, the slaves will only be in the clearinghouse for one hour."

"We'll have to move fast," said Hunter. "If you give me all the relevant data –"

Tech pressed a button.

Hunter's datapad, resting on the control consol, beeped. "Okay," he said. "Bad Batch, pack up. We've got a job to do."

Quinlan cleared his throat. "Don't forget, Hunter – you're supposed to be working for Grakkus. You should stay.

Hunter frowned, and the other three stared at the Jedi as though he were crazy. No one spoke for a long moment.

Finally, Hunter shifted. "All due respect, but . . . I don't think that's the best idea."

"It's a _bad_ idea!" Wrecker clarified.

Quinlan shrugged. "Why?"

No one answered.

"Listen," Quinlan said. "We'll have a hard enough time getting three of you in without being seen or recorded in some way. Grakkus is sure to be watching Hunter. He's got this ship's ID now, don't forget."

"That is true," said Tech.

"He also has yours," Hunter argued.

"Yeah, and he probably knows I'm here. But he's got no reason to know I've met you. My ship's on the other side of the airfield. I could be investigating a lead on the Prince in Hutta Town, for all he knows. Of course, the biggest difference is that Grakkus doesn't dare come after me, but he'd have absolutely no problem with dragging you back to his place and pinning you to the wall. Literally."

Hunter looked unconvinced.

"Also." Quinlan thought for a moment. "It's pretty important that he not find out you have three other guys with you."

No one spoke for a long, tense moment. Quinlan examined a tear in his cape, wondering how it had gotten there.

"So . . ." Hunter looked unwilling. "What do you suggest I do in the meantime?"

Quinlan worked his index finger through the hole in the dark fabric, ripping it even more. "Fuel up, get supplies, get ready to head to the Prince's territory. . . I dunno."

Hunter looked at each of his squad mates.

Wrecker shrugged. "Shouldn't be too hard, Sarge."

"I'm not worried about it being _hard_ ," Hunter retorted, rolling his eyes slightly.

Tech referred to his datapad. "If this is correct, there will be twenty-eight slaves onboard. There are only ten names on the paylist, so unless Grakkus sends men to meet the shuttle, subduing them should be easily manageable."

Crosshair turned a piercing look on Quinlan. "What are the slaves supposed to do after we free them?"

The Jedi sighed. "They'll have to take the shuttle and get out, I guess. We can't do much for them."

Crosshair seemed to consider this for a moment. "And what about you?"

"I'm going with you three." Quinlan ignored Hunter's dubious expression. "Look, I've pulled this kind of thing off solo before."

"Yeah." Hunter gestured at his datapad. "We know."

Quinlan Vos pulled out his blaster and checked it. "Currently, my plan is to hang around in the background and only step in if I'm needed."

Tech tilted his head. "What if Vythia Archane is still watching you?"

"Well, I located and destroyed three trackers on my ship while you guys were getting the intel. Putting two trackers on a fighter is pretty standard – one in an obvious place and the other as a backup. Vythia put three on, which means she's the careful type."

Hunter shook his head uncertainly. "Right."

After a moment of hesitation, Wrecker, Tech and Crosshair went to collect their supplies. Hunter stared down at the map, dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Quinlan leaned over and shut off the holoprojector.

Hunter glanced up, blinking.

"We'll be back." Giving him a smirk and a two-fingered salute, Quinlan wandered from the cockpit to join the others.

* * *

Two hours later, Quinlan followed the three commandos out of the airbus that they'd rented from an old Weequay. "Y'know, we could have _bought_ this piece of junk for the price you paid him," he remarked.

"Yes, well; that's not what the Weequay thought," said Tech obviously. "He was quite adamant."

The four of them stood on a small bridge that stretched over a short road leading to the warehouse. Quinlan moved to the short railing and examined the building, lit at intervals with flickering or half-burned out lights. "Okay. We can move in. There aren't any guards outside."

"How did you know?" Tech looked from his scanner to the Jedi.

"The Force," Quinlan said. He put a hand on the rail and vaulted over, landing some ten feet below.

Tech followed easily. "I am curious as to how exactly the Force works."

"What, never thought to look it up before?"

"Strangely enough, no." Tech squinted his eyes critically. "Perhaps I should spend some time researching it when we return to our ship."

Crosshair landed soundlessly between them and straightened. "Are you going to stand here talking all night?"

"Just waiting for you to catch up." Quinlan smirked at the silent and invisible glare Crosshair gave him, then stepped away when Wrecker thudded to the ground behind them. "Far as I can tell, the only guards around are inside, just like you thought, Tech."

"Ten guards positioned near the entrance," he affirmed. "There are twenty-eight lifeforms grouped at the far end of the building. The shuttle they arrived on is just outside the back door."

"Great." Quinlan put a hand on his knife. "What's your plan?"

" _Our_ plan?" Wrecker asked. "Uhh. . ."

To Quinlan's surprise, all three of the clones were genuinely confused. Tech rested a hand on the back of his helmet and stared thoughtfully at nothing. Wrecker shrugged uncertainly, and both of them turned to Crosshair.

The sniper lowered his rifle to point at the ground and took a step forward. "We assumed _you_ had one."

Quinlan frowned. _This is kind of weird. . ._ Sure, he'd been out of the loop a bit as far as the Grand Army of the Republic went, but he'd seen the clones in action. Even the lowest-ranking soldiers were fast thinkers, trained to act and adapt as the situation demanded. Wouldn't special ops guys have been taught to think even _more_ independently, or was that only for ARC troopers?

Come to think of it, ARC troopers were special ops, too . . . But, far as he knew, ARCs were originally regular troopers, selected from the ranks for their skill, whereas commandos were trained for special ops from the very beginning. Something wasn't adding up here.

He glanced at the silent warehouse before turning fully to face them. "You weren't going in without a plan, were you?"

"We always have plans," Crosshair hissed. "But Hunter calls the shots."  
  
Tech lifted a finger. "And _you_ are the superior officer."

"I'm –" Quinlan wondered if smacking himself in the forehead would alleviate some of the stupidity that seemed to have hit him this past day. "Oh."

"Yes. _Oh_ ," Crosshair said acidly as he prowled toward the mouth of the alleyway.

Quinlan stared after him. He was pretty sure that Crosshair shouldn't be mocking him, but given that he'd forgotten how ranking worked, well. . . He didn't feel like calling the sniper out on it.

Maybe he should. He probably should.

Then again, it would just make the mission harder, and it didn't much matter if Crosshair thought he was an idiot.

He turned to Wrecker and Tech. "Now that I've completely lost your respect, what was your plan?"

"You haven't _lost_ our respect," said Tech.

"I – haven't . . ."

"Naw." Wrecker cracked his knuckles. "You never had it to begin with. Ha!"

"Precisely," said Tech, with an air of absolute indifference.

Quinlan felt a tinge of irritation. "Look, I get that I'm not much of a general, but I'm still – Wait. Is this because I told Hunter to stay behind?"

"Of course not." Tech clipped his datapad to his belt. "You were correct about that, although I suspect he was not pleased."

Wrecker snorted. "That's for sure."

"Okay." Quinlan scratched his head. "What is it, then – you guys want _me_ to make the plan?"

"No." Tech pulled two pistols from his belt. "But we can hardly function if we don't know who's leading."

"I don't work with a team, I told you that." Quinlan frowned at him. "I figured you guys would work better with just the three of you."

" _Some_ one has to be in charge," Tech said. "Normally that would be Hunter."

Quinlan shrugged. "So who leads when he's not around?"

Wrecker turned to stare at him. "He's never _not_ around."

"What would happen if he got killed?"

"We'd complete the mission," said Tech. "And then, I presume, we would be assigned a new sergeant, or one of us would be promoted."

"None of you is a corporal?"

"No," Tech said shortly.

Something about the way he said it made Quinlan curious, but he glanced at his chrono. "We don't really have time for this right now. If Hunter was along, what would your plan be?"

Tech gestured with his weapons. "I'm not sure, but based on the schematics and our current objectives, there is an eighty percent chance that he would call Plan Fifty-One."

"Plan Fifty-One."

"Yes. Wrecker goes inside and causes a distraction while I cover him. Crosshair carries out the objective. Hunter helps whichever of us needs help at any given time."  
  
Quinlan nodded. "Then I'll cover for Hunter. Grab Crosshair and let's get going."

Tech stepped forward decisively, then hesitated, half-turning. "You call it."

"Ah, fine." Quinlan moved to the mouth of the alleyway and stopped next to Crosshair. "We're using Plan Fifty-One. Move out."

He hung back while the other three moved to the main doorway and broke through it with robotic precision. Wrecker tossed two small devices to Crosshair and Tech, who set them against the door's seal and spun to either side.

A tiny explosion sounded, and the doors sprang open. Wrecker charged in, firing in the air and roaring with glee, then flung his gun to one side in favor of attacking the guards at close quarters.

Tech dashed after him, firing stun rounds with both pistols. Crosshair made his way around the perimeter toward the slaves. Quinlan followed, wondering what exactly he should do to help.

Wrecker and Tech had things pretty well handled, and Crosshair was nearing the wide platform. Only a few guards were left.

Quinlan, keeping one eye on the battle and one on the slaves, paused when a dark-skinned human staggered up after Wrecker's whirlwind attack. Quinlan landed a solid punch against his chin and the guy dropped like a stone. Quinlan didn't blame him.

A siren wailed, piercing the air, and he winced reflexively. Crosshair broke into a run, and Tech sprinted for a control panel.

"Oh, yeah!" yelled Wrecker. He snatched his gun and sent a few rounds into the siren, mercifully cutting off the noise.

"We won't have much time now!" Tech called, swerving away from the control panel towards the back door.

"We won't need it," Quinlan shouted back. "Get that shuttle running!"

"On it!" Tech and Wrecker rushed outside.

Quinlan climbed onto the platform, where Crosshair was methodically freeing the slaves from their shackles with some sort of electronic key.

"Who are you?" demanded a middle-aged woman. "What are you doing?"

"Freeing you," Crosshair replied unhelpfully.

A yellow male Twi'lek stood up, rubbing his arms. "Where are we?"

"Nar Shaddaa." Quinlan gestured them toward the back door. "Look, this is literally the last place in the galaxy you want to be right now. . . Okay, except maybe for Nal Hutta or Tatooine or Kadavo. " He paused. "Yeah, so anyway, you might want to get going."  
  
The woman, who seemed to be speaking for the others, narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand. Why are you here?"

"To be honest. . ." Quinlan winced slightly. "We need to cause trouble for Grakkus, and right now that means freeing you."

It sounded horribly mercenary when he put it that way, but – it was true. Quinlan held back an instinctive sigh.

Then the back doors swung open, and Wrecker waved. "Get onboard! Tech's got the ship ready to fly!"

The freed slaves hurried by, scarcely giving their rescuers a glance. The woman paused beside Quinlan, who started to smile reassuringly, then stopped. An urgent warning filled his mind, and he spun, grabbed the woman's arm and shoved her behind him. "Get out of here, now!"

Panicked shouts and cries rang out as the front door slammed open and eight assassin droids dashed into the room, metal feet pounding against the duracrete floor.

Quinlan hissed under his breath, dropping into a defensive stance. Of all missions not to have his lightsaber with him – ! He drew his knife, whipping it forward to extend the blade, and yelled, "Get the slaves out!"

The assassin droids reached him. Quinlan jumped and hooked one knee around the first attacker's neck, caught his weight on one hand as the droid fell, and vaulted up to land in a crouch, his knife buried to the hilt in the next assassin's fragile eye.

Before he could withdraw his knife, the others were on him. He released his weapon and backed away, landed a hard kick on one's head, ducked beneath and around a blow –

A cold, metal hand closed around his wrist and wrenched him sideways. Something slammed against his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. As he doubled over, his other wrist was grabbed, and the two assassin droids shoved his back against the wall and held him there.

Quinlan shook the hair from his eyes and glanced quickly around the room. The slaves were gone, and so were four of the droids. Four remained – two holding him, and two on the ground. One of those had been taken out by his knife, and the other was smoking, presumably from a laser shot. Crosshair had vanished.

Being captured was nothing particularly new, so Quinlan took a moment to wonder if he should use the Force to free himself, despite the possible results should he be recognized as a Jedi.

A shadow flitted in the rafters overhead.

The back door opened with a crash, and Wrecker rushed across the room, followed by two droids. "Slaves are out!" he yelled to Quinlan.

Okay, great. Now they had to get _themselves_ out. . .

One of Quinlan's captors turned to the other, speaking in its monotone, guttural voice. "It is likely we will be defeated."

"Agreed."

"Execute the prisoner."

The droid pulled a blaster and turned to the Jedi.

Quinlan threw his weight forward, but his arms were twisted behind his back and a heavy foot caught him between the shoulder blades, forcing him to the ground. He was just about to summon the Force, regardless of the consequences, when a shot rang out.

The next moment, Tech crouched next to him. "We should leave."

"Oh, totally." Quinlan dragged himself painfully to his knees.

Crosshair appeared suddenly, standing on a rafter a few meters away. Dropping to one knee, he caught the beam and swung down.

Wrecker joined them, tossing a droid arm over one shoulder. "Hey, Crosshair! I took three of 'em out!"

"So did I." Crosshair gestured at the two droids that had held Quinlan. Both had holes through their heads.

Quinlan cracked his neck. "I could have sworn I heard only one shot."

"You did." Crosshair slung his rifle over one shoulder and headed for the door.

Wrecker followed. "You mean we're still tied? Aw, _man._ "

Quinlan stopped to jerk his knife free of the droid's head. "For future reference, this isn't great for taking out droids," he told Tech.

"I imagine not." Tech adjusted his goggles and observed it. "You should get a vibroblade like Hunter's. It works very well."

"Yeah, I think I'll just use my lightsaber next time." He smirked. "I can't let Wrecker and Crosshair have _all_ the fun."

"Well," said Tech. "I only got one droid this time."

"Looks like we're tied too, doesn't it?" Quinlan sheathed his knife. "Hey, did any of the prisoners know how to fly a ship?"

"Three did," Tech replied, hurrying after the other two.

Quinlan followed, pausing only to crack his back. Dumb droids. "Hopefully, they head somewhere safe."

"I input the coordinates for Naboo, along with a code that will let them be recognized as Republic refugees."

Quinlan nodded. He had actually thought about sending them to Coruscant, but this would be better. Naboo was _not_ the capital of the Republic, which meant it was less busy and better equipped for handling refugees.

The airbus vibrated to life above them and descended to street level. Quinlan vaulted onboard, and Tech followed.

"Let's head back to the airfield," Quinlan said as Crosshair sent the vehicle into the crowded airway. "But land midway between the _Havoc Marauder_ and my ship."

He pressed his comm. "Hey, Hunter?"

The sergeant's voice came back instantly. _"Keep an eye out. A dozen patrolbots just left Grakkus' palace."_

Quinlan scratched his cheek. "Okay, but how do you know?"

 _"I'm getting supplies, just like you suggested."_ Hunter's voice carried the faintest hint of confusion. It was a pretty good act. Too bad Quinlan had heard it all before – he might have been convinced of Hunter's honest intent, otherwise.

"Uh-huh. I went to the markets this morning, and they were a good two kilometers away from the palace."

Tech, who had just taken his helmet off, smirked.

 _"Must have missed this market,"_ Hunter lied calmly.

"Find any good merchandise?"

_"Just a few policebots. . . Got 'em dirt cheap, too."_

"Yeah?"

_"Yeah. No one wanted them. They were all, uh, broken. . ."_

Crosshair cut in. "Before or after you found them?"

A short pause. _"You guys on your way back?"_

"We'll be there shortly," Quinlan said. "Landing platform five, meet you there."

_"Okay."_

The comms cut off, and Tech held up his datapad to reveal a map. "He's going to have to move fast to get there in time."

"Yep." Quinlan leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms behind his head with a satisfied grin.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it starts. They got along for nearly a whole chapter and a half, though. Pretty impressive, for these guys. ;D


	7. Escalation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it, only a day late! Congratulations, me . . . !
> 
> Ah . . . right, sorry, ignore that majorly unprofessional remark. . . :D

* * *

Hunter lay on his side in the lower bunk, staring at the wall – or, rather, staring _towards_ the wall, since it was dark and he couldn't actually see anything. He estimated that perhaps an hour had been spent in this unproductive activity.

The hour before that had been spent in staring at the opposite wall, and the hour before _that_ had been spent with his eyes shut.

The clone sergeant sat up, grumbling internally. On the opposite side of the room, Wrecker breathed heavily, obviously sound asleep. Tech and Crosshair were less audible, but Hunter knew Tech was also asleep, for the simple reason that his datapad had finally shut off.

Hunter poked at the mattress above him, but there was no response. Crosshair was just as dead to the galaxy as the other two.

This situation was too common. The first time had been a minor inconvenience, but the hundredth time had all the familiarity of a drill, with none of the usefulness and at least twice the annoyance.

Hunter reached for his datapad, flicked on the screen, and checked his chronometer. _Hm, oh-three-hundred. Ah, this is pointless. Might as well get some research done. . ._

The screen blurred a bit in front of his eyes, but he stared grimly at it until the letters resolved, then began reading the reports Tech had compiled earlier.

A slow hour passed, and Hunter felt himself growing more and more tired. Just as he was beginning to doze off, Wrecker woke up.

Wrecker went quietly around the room, careful to make as little noise as possible, but the tiny _clicks_ and _snaps_ as he fastened his armor sounded horrifically loud. Hunter groaned in irritation and stuffed his blanket over his ears.

When Wrecker had left to complete his usual insane exercise routine, Hunter dozed off again, briefly . . . just in time for his datapad to give a single, high-pitched _beep_ as the chronometer hit oh-four-thirty.

Hunter opened his eyes and stared mildly at his datapad.

He was going to _smash_ it.

There was nothing for it, however, so Hunter sat up, swung his feet over the edge of the mattress, leaned his head in his hands, and pressed his palms against his eyes until they no longer felt like sand.

Now, how best to get a cup of caf without waking Tech up. . .

Tech was absolutely _not_ allowed caf. Neither was Crosshair, and neither was Wrecker. To be honest, Hunter was the only one who could drink it, and that was only because he'd exempted himself from the no caf rule, courtesy of being sergeant.

He dragged himself to the galley, prepared a six-ounce cup from a twelve-ounce packet, and gulped it down. The bitter flavor helped to wake him, and the dose of caffeine was high enough that he'd last the day no problem, once it kicked in.

Hunter destroyed the evidence by tossing his caf-cup in the incinerator, then went to prepare for the day. He was half ready when, at oh-five-hundred, Wrecker stumped into the cabin and announced, "Nothing's happened yet!"

Feeling much more level-headed by now, Hunter calmly fastened his cuirass and reached for his vambraces. "What's supposed to be happening?"

"Grakkus hasn't come after us. Vos' plan didn't work!"

"Hm." Hunter tossed his pack to Wrecker, who secured it to Hunter's back. "Y'know, Wrecker, it hasn't been that long since we got back to the _Marauder_."

"Long _enough_ ," Wrecker grumbled.

Hunter went over to his bed to grab his knife, then straightened and poked Crosshair in the ribs. "Hey, Crosshair, wake up. It's getting late."

The sniper sat up, rolled out of bed on the opposite side, landed unsteadily, and proceeded toward the armor rack. On his way by the second bunk bed, he stepped onto the ladder and hissed in Tech's ear, "Our scanners have failed."

Hunter rolled his eyes.

Tech sat up with a jolt and groped around for his goggles, eyes half-open. "Which ones? When? Why?"

Wrecker laughed uproariously and headed for the galley.

Hunter followed him, leaving the other two to their bickering. Grabbing the nearest pack of food from the storage unit, he twisted it to start the heating process. "Wonder what Vos has planned for today."

"Hope it's something fun," Wrecker answered.

Hunter wasn't an authority on civilian pastimes, but he was pretty sure that Wrecker's definition of fun was different from most of the galaxy's. He grabbed a fork and opened his food container. The appetizing, but distinctly flash-frozen scent of nerf steak and gravy drifted out. "Want some steak, Wrecker?"

Wrecker opened his own container, stared at the contents, and slid it across the small table to Hunter. "Yeah, you want topato cakes?"

"Sure." They split half and half, and were nearly done eating by the time Tech and Crosshair entered, got their own food packs, and joined them.

"What's the plan for today?" Tech asked, leaning his elbows on the table. Then he froze, cocked his head, and stared hard at nothing over Crosshair's shoulder. The sniper narrowed his eyes suspiciously and turned. Tech reached across the table and dumped half his topatoes into Crosshair's container.

Wrecker laughed again.

Hunter polished off the last of his meal, idly watching his squad mates as they continued to act like cadets. Crosshair gave his much-increased meal a sour look, stabbed a steak with his fork, and stared grimly at Tech.

Hunter's comm beeped. All hostilities ceased abruptly as he answered the call. "Vos?"

_"Yeah, it's me. I've been keeping an eye on what passes for the news channel around here. No reports, no searches . . . I don't think we gave Grakkus quite enough trouble last night."_

"We had the same thought," Hunter answered.

_"Good. I'm headed to your ship. Be there in five."_

The comm clicked as Vos cut the transmission. Hunter turned to his teammates in time to see Crosshair swap plates right under Tech's nose, which – as usual – was very close to a datapad.

Tech poked blindly at his food, then lowered his datapad, apparently realizing what had happened. His eyes widened, and he blinked in outrage.

Crosshair sneered at him and hastily cleared his now empty food pack.

Hunter gave a patient and hypocritical sigh. "Can't you guys act normal?" Before either of them could give him more than a skeptical look, he stood up. "Vos is on his way."

"Wonderful," Crosshair snipped.

Wrecker stood up, jostling his chair, the table, and Tech. "Bet he wants us to make the plan again."

"Whad'ya mean?" Hunter tossed his fork and the empty container into the disposal unit and grabbed four pouches of mineral water. "Wait. . . Vos let _you_ make the plan last night?"

"Not exactly." Tech, completely unbothered by this apparent slur on his and his squad mates' abilities, accepted a pouch of water and opened it. "Originally, he seemed to think that we'd work best without him, but, as you were absent, it was necessary that someone make the decisions. I suggested Plan Fifty-One to him. He agreed."

Hunter frowned. "Vos is even less of a general than I thought."

"Could be worse," Wrecker said. "Least he's not, uh . . . mi-cro-managing us." He grinned at Tech's disgruntled look.

Someone banged loudly on the bay door, and Hunter went to open it, still mulling over the conversation. Halfway to the door, he remembered that the boarding ramp had not been lowered. And yet the knocking was clearly coming from the upper half of the high door . . .

Hunter paused at the entrance and turned on the intercom. "Vos?"

 _"Open the door already,"_ the Jedi begged.

Vos was knocking on the top of the door, which meant that he was somehow clinging to the centimeter-wide decorative border _over_ the door, which meant – "You're hanging on by one hand?"

 _"I'm dying here,"_ Vos insisted.

Hunter pressed the release. The door opened to reveal Vos, who opened his mouth to comment just as his grip slipped. The Jedi disappeared with a muffled, "Oops."

Hunter leaned out and looked at the ground, but was forced to jump out of the way as Vos leaped straight up, hurtling through the doorway in a somersault.

"Hey, Sarge," said Quinlan easily, standing up and brushing his shoulder guards free of dust. "How's everything going?"

Hunter didn't answer for a moment. "Why didn't you comm to tell us you'd arrived?"

"Well, I had to dismantle my wrist comm last night," the Jedi admitted, scratching his head. "Kind of hard to build a new one in six hours. I was hoping your resident genius would have some spare parts."

"We've got plenty of spare commlinks," Hunter replied. "Did someone get a lock on your frequency?"

"Yeah, I think so. Might have been when those assassin droids caught me. Ship comm's still good, though."

Hunter watched him for a moment, wondering if all the Jedi shared the same casual, laid-back attitude, or whether Quinlan was simply . . . strange. Then again, Jedi were all strange, really. He'd read that they were able to read minds and lift things without touching them and leap dozens of meters into the air.

Hunter wondered how much of this was true. Some of the research he'd done this morning involved the Jedi. The most recent report filed with GAR command claimed that a female Twi'lek general named Secura had taken out an entire company of droids with the help of only three men. One of those men was Commander Bly, who had written the report. Because Hunter knew that Bly was trustworthy, he accepted the report at face value, but – twelve dozen droids dead within three minutes, with no clone casualties?

Even the most successful commando squads didn't have that level of success.

At least, not so far.

Still . . . Hunter glanced at the Jedi, who was studying the star map with casual interest. Secura seemed to be a fairly capable leader, but Vos. . . Well, he wasn't Secura.

Hunter cleared his throat. "What's the plan?"

The bland look Quinlan wore immediately changed to one of interest. "Grakkus didn't come after us despite his lost shipment of slaves. We need to cause more trouble, and I figure the best way to do that is to rob his stronghold. Of course, we've got to do it without your being recognized."

"I'm going on this mission, then?"

The Jedi Knight lounged against the wall, observing Hunter keenly. "Vythia has to know that there are four of you to hire."

Hunter thought back to the dark palace and Grakkus' hidden bounty hunters. His team had only been on active duty for a little over three weeks, and the missions they'd carried out had been simple. This one, though . . . well, it was sounding more complicated all the time.

The challenge was intriguing.

"We can start late this afternoon," Quinlan added. "In the meantime, I need to get my fighter back to the Prince's territory. One attack with me around could be a coincidence, but two – any idiot would get suspicious at that."

Hunter nodded slowly. "Tech can take care of the fighter."

"What, fly it? I'm sure he can, but –"

"No," Hunter interrupted. "He can program it to fly there."

Quinlan frowned, running a finger over the bright yellow marking that ran across his face. "Without crashing it?"

"Yeah."

Tech materialized beside Hunter to stare intently at the Jedi.

Quinlan eyed him. "Can you put a lifeform generator in it?"

"Yes!" Tech replied, and vanished as quickly as he'd come.

Hunter smirked and answered Quinlan's unasked question. "Yeah, he knows you want it in your fighter, and he knows you want your fighter near the Prince's headquarters."

"Okay, great. . ." Vos looked uncertain, then shrugged. "You want to head into Grakkus' place earlier?"

Hunter raised a hand, gesturing him toward the holoprojector. "I reviewed the intel while you guys were gone last night. Grakkus' security is lighter during the day."

"You think his security will be a problem?"

"Normally, I wouldn't worry about it," Hunter admitted, turning on the projector. "I don't want any surprises, though. We're already playing a double hand."

Quinlan knelt next to the holotable, his face practically in the map. "Actually, we're playing a triple hand." He leaned even closer, and blue projections slid across his features. "Hey, where's Grakkus' throne room, anyway?"

"Currently?" Hunter checked. "Above your right eye."

"Oh." The Jedi sat back on his heels. "Where's your team?"

Hunter shrugged. "I can call them."

"Nah, don't bother. Listen, if I sent you guys on this by yourselves, what plan would you come up with?"

 _Why is he even asking? He can't be intending to stay behind._ "Uhh . . . first I'd need to know what you wanted us to take from Grakkus."

"Jedi stuff."

Hunter raised an eyebrow. ". . . You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Grakkus has a bad habit of collecting things from Jedi – lightsabers, robes, datapads, specialized armor. That kind of thing."

"He's killed Jedi?" It would explain why Quinlan seemed hesitant to go back to the palace.

"Not officially," Quinlan said. "Still, I'd stake my reputation on the fact that he's been behind their deaths. He's always in the market for Jedi's possessions, especially lightsabers. Kind of like . . . a sign of his power? Hutts are obsessed with power, and Grakkus – well, he's even more obsessed than the other Hutts, if those cybernetic legs of his are any indication."

"Yeah," Hunter agreed. "I wonder if he can move fast."

"I dunno, but if we make him mad enough we're sure to find out." Quinlan Vos seemed pleased at the thought.

Hunter looked down at the map again. _We?_ "You're coming along?"

"Well, yeah, of course." The Jedi gave him a sudden, piercing look. "You think I'm afraid of Grakkus, don't you?"

Hunter shrugged minutely. _Looks like the mindreading part is right . . ._

Vos folded his arms abruptly, looking uncomfortable. "Let's get one thing straight right now. I'm a psychometrist, not a mind reader. Only a couple Jedi really have the ability, and they don't use it. Reading people's _thoughts_ – that's something the Sith do."

It was the most sincere Quinlan had sounded so far, and his face was actually serious for a change.

Hunter gave him a nod. "Okay."

"Reading _people,_ well, that's just something I'm good at. Observation and inference, nothing Force-related - well, mostly. Sometimes I get a read on emotions without intending to, but that's different."

He seemed strangely defensive, Hunter thought. Maybe he'd been accused of mindreading a lot. "Okay," he said again.

Vos glanced away. "Uh. Yeah, that's all."

Hunter leaned on the holoprojector. "Back to the plan . . . It seems to me that he'd keep his Jedi collection in a secure room. Throne room?"

"I'm thinking the vault, actually." Quinlan pointed to a wide room at the base of the map. "I didn't sense anything Force-related yesterday."

 _What does that even mean?_ Hunter considered asking, but instead nodded, tapping his comm twice to signal for Crosshair. "Okay, we'll try the vault. What are our mission parameters?"

"Uh. . . Complete objectives without dying?"

It was impossible to tell whether Quinlan was mocking him or truly confused about what mission parameters meant. To be fair, though, there wasn't much to do on this particular mission. It would probably be wisest to just get in and get out with minimum damage to all concerned parties.

Crosshair entered the room, his dark eyes fixed suspiciously on Quinlan. Hunter wondered if the sniper was going to antagonize the Jedi the same way he antagonized most other strangers, but for once he kept his mouth shut.

Hunter pointed at the map. "Hey, Cross, listen up. We're heading back to Grakkus' place to get his attention."

"How?" Crosshair folded his arms. "Are we going to blow it up?"

"Tempting," Quinlan admitted. "But, no. We're going to steal back some of the stuff he's stolen from Jedi."

One eyebrow went up, and Hunter could see the question forming in Crosshair's eyes as to how a Hutt, of all beings, had managed to best Jedi.

Hunter elbowed him. "I want you to get down there and find us an entrance that won't require us to use the _Marauder._ "

"Got it." Crosshair hefted his rifle and left.

"He's going by himself?" Quinlan asked.

"He's good at recon."

"Yeah . . . but this is Nar Shaddaa we're talking about." Quinlan scratched thoughtfully at his chin. "Course, you know your guys better than I do."

Hunter inclined his head. "Once we've got an insertion point, we'll head straight in, grab what we can, and get out. I take it security cameras won't be a problem, since we want to be seen."

"Right, but you can't go in looking like that," Quinlan said, gesturing at Hunter's armor. "Grakkus will recognize you in two seconds flat. I recommend you get some sort of, I dunno, paint job or something. . ."

"What about you?" Hunter asked critically. He did _not_ like the idea of repainting his armor, apart from the occasional touch-up.

"Hey," said the Jedi, straightening up with a grin. "I'm a master at getting into places unnoticed."

"Uh-huh . . ." Hunter eyed the bright yellow stripe that ran over the bridge of Quinlan's nose. "Pardon my saying so, but that's pretty noticeable."

"We have this thing called face paint, y'know."

"Yeah, I'm looking at it."

The Jedi snickered. "No, this is a tattoo. Speaking of which –" He gestured at Hunter's face. "Yours is pretty noticeable, too. _And_ you had your helmet off when you talked to Grakkus."

 _. . . blast. Can't believe I forgot that._ Hunter shrugged. "Actually, engine grease works pretty good."

A flicker of interest crossed Quinlan's face. "How well does grease cover armor?"

"Considering Tech's last engine repair. . . really well."

Quinlan smirked. "Okay, that's our plan."

As far as Hunter knew, 'engine grease' did not translate to a workable plan, but then again, he couldn't really protest. It wasn't as though Clone Force Ninety-Nine thought up complete plans before jumping into a situation. "Okay."

"Any questions?" the Jedi asked breezily.

"Yeah." Hunter tilted his head. "Why'd you make it sound like you weren't coming along?"

"Oh, well." The Jedi folded his arms again, glancing at the ceiling. "I know I'm the highest-ranking guy here, but - like I said. I don't work with a team, and I don't want to be making plans for a team. You take care of your side of the mission and I'll handle mine. You guys are effective on your own. I'm effective on my own. "

Hunter said nothing. That's _what I thought about the commander._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of conversing in this one, but I'm trying to make it realistic in the sense that there is, in real life, a lot of conversation and interaction that goes on in between drama. :)
> 
> Anyone got any good tips on how to really increase the quality of one's writing? I've been reading Sabari's story 'Survivors of Fortune' (over on FF) which really does a fabulous job of building up story world and characters. . . Something which I struggle with.
> 
> In other news, I randomly got an idea for another Misadventure . . . so that should be up this week.


	8. The Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm sorry I'm late on this chapter. . . I intended to post yesterday, but there was a - situation - with the candy corn I was making.
> 
> Suffice it to say that I spent about four hours in the kitchen instead of one. ;D

* * *

_Quinlan Vos crept along the dim street, dodging piles of litter and refuse while keeping to the heavy shadows cast by the tramway running over his head. A tramcar roared over, shaking the duracrete._

"Are you sure the entrance is on this side?" he muttered into his comm.

_"Are you sure you're on the correct side?"_ replied Hunter. _"We're at the rendezvous, but I don't see you."_

"A tram just went over my head." Quinlan turned to look up at a dingy, dust-smeared sign. "I _thought_ this was the forty-ninth level. No, maybe it's the forty-seventh. Just a sec."

He clambered up the metal support, using the crisscrossing braces for a ladder, and brushed at the dirt that covered the numbers. "Forty-seventh. Huh."

_"How did you get on an entirely wrong level?"_ Hunter sounded slightly impatient.

Quinlan jumped off and rubbed the dust from his gloves onto his tunic. "Actually, it's harder than you think."

_"What is?"_

The Jedi glanced around, Force-jumped to the tramway, and leaped upward once more to balance precariously on a wide water pipe. "Uh. Counting levels and stopping on time?"

His comm blinked silently at him for a long moment. _"Counting levels?"_

"Yep." Measuring the distance with his eyes, Quinlan gathered his strength and took a quick running start. He came down directly on top of a creaking old lift. "They go by fast when you're in freefall."

Another pause. Quinlan smirked to himself as he climbed up the lift pulleys – Nar Shaddaa was notoriously outdated in everything but crime – and hopped onto another walkway. "I'm on forty-nine now."

Tech spoke next. _"When you say freefall, do you mean it literally?"_

"How else could I mean it?"

_"As in, you jumped off the landing platform and counted levels as you fell?"_ Tech suddenly sounded very interested.

"Yeah. Guess I miscounted."

Crosshair's voice came from the background. _"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."_

"Like to see you do better," Quinlan replied absently. "I see the palace. Are you guys at the front?"

_"Yes,"_ said Hunter. _"Beneath the third support pillar on the west side of the plaza."_

"Got it." Quinlan checked his surroundings, but once again, no one was nearby. He broke into a casual jog, his senses reaching out all around. On Coruscant, there were always hundreds of beings within shouting distance. Here, there seemed to be just as many people, but all secluded, all hidden.

On Coruscant, even in the lowest slums, you could find people who would help, should a random stranger be in trouble. Quinlan knew this from personal experience – he might not have escaped that drug-runner's men if an old Pantoran hadn't seen him running and pulled him into cover.

Of course, those people were few and far between there, but here . . . He wouldn't be surprised if they were completely absent. The Force felt almost muted. No one cared about anything but survival.

What a thoroughly miserable existence these people must lead. Quinlan frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he neared the plaza. Sure, most of the inhabitants were here through choice – Nar Shaddaa was a pretty good place to live if you wanted to escape the law – but not _everyone_. There were people who were here simply to refuel and get out, hopefully with their fortunes and health intact; some who were down on their luck and needed jobs or money; and there were slaves, some who had just arrived, and some who were runaways, in hiding from their old masters.

Quinlan stood in the shelter of a dark, empty doorway and studied the plaza, which was also empty, then sauntered forward. Slavery was stupid and had all kinds of bad results. Not the least of these was the fact that previous slaves were often known to turn around and enslave those who had enslaved _them._ Kind of backwards, really.

_Not that I'd lose a lot of sleep if someone enslaved Grakkus, though._ He grinned guiltily.

"Took you long enough!" Wrecker shout-whispered from a few feet away, cutting through Quinlan's wandering thoughts.

"Sorry." He turned to study the entrance, then faced the commandos. "Okay, I checked out that pipeline entrance. It's old and probably dangerous, but it seems empty."

Hunter tilted his blackened helmet, casting the Jedi a look that was probably suspicious. "But you're not sure."

"Nope." Brushing a lock of hair from his eyes, he stepped forward. "You guys are welcome to go examine it yourselves while I handle Grakkus."

Tech looked confused. "But if we all go down there, we won't need to use the pipeline as an escape route, so what point would there be in checking it out?"

Hunter huffed a sigh. "Presumably, Tech, that's his point."

Quinlan gestured at the entrance, and the five of them sprinted towards it. Four guards, all unconscious and wearing stuncuffs, were lying near one of the support pillars.

"Where'd you get the stuncuffs?" Quinlan wondered aloud as Tech knelt, setting to work on the security panel.

"The guards," Crosshair said succinctly.

"Yeah!" added Wrecker. "They were _kind_ enough to let us borrow them."

"Uh-huh . . ."

The wide paneled doors slid open, folding in on themselves, and Tech sprang to his feet. "We're in!"

Quinlan drew his knife, extended the blade, and sauntered through the door. The light from outside was the only illumination in the entire hallway. One would think that Grakkus, rich as he was, could at least afford a few glowpanels. Maybe slugs just liked living in the dark.

"Should we use our lights?" Hunter whispered, one hand hovering near his helmet.

"Not yet." Quinlan narrowed his eyes, reaching through the Force. There was a warning, red-tinged flicker from somewhere up ahead. . . "There's something near us," he said. "Something dangerous."

Wrecker cracked his knuckles loudly.

"I'll lead the way," Quinlan said. "Stay close, but not too close."

"Crosshair, watch our backs," Hunter ordered.

The sniper went silently to the back of the group.

Quinlan dropped into a half-crouch and moved forward lightly. The commandos were nearly as silent as he, which was impressive, given their armor.

The red flicker returned in his mind, then vanished to his left. Quinlan adjusted his grip on the knife hilt and broke into a run. The hall ended abruptly, forking upstairs to the left and downstairs to the right. Right would take them to the vault more quickly, but it also passed by Grakkus' throne room.

Had Quinlan been alone, he'd have taken the right passage. Now, he hesitated.

Hunter stepped up beside him. "What is it?"

". . . Safer, or faster?" Quinlan asked.

"Faster," replied Hunter immediately. "I don't like the feel of this place."

Quinlan didn't like the feel of it either, but – that was because of what the Force was telling him. He wondered what Hunter meant by his words. "Okay, right it is."

There were no traps on the stairs themselves, but as they gathered on the small landing, Quinlan stopped short, holding up a hand. Three interrogation probes floated down around them, lights flickering and needles extended. A faint, shrill sound emanated from them as they drew closer.

Before Quinlan could move, Hunter lashed out with a high roundhouse kick that slammed the nearest probe into the wall, where Wrecker pinned it with his gargantuan knife. Hunter dropped into a crouch, readying himself for another attack. Tech jumped onto his shoulders and launched himself into the air, landing on top of the second droid and driving it into the ground.

By now, Hunter had his own knife out. He slashed the probe twice, leaving trails of sparks as Wrecker got the last droid.

Crosshair slipped through the gap between Hunter and Tech and continued down the hall, leaving the others, including Quinlan, to follow.

Quinlan Vos looked at his own knife and seriously considered Tech's advice from the previous night. "Those vibroblades aren't exactly what I'd call standard issue."

"Neither are we," Crosshair snarked.

Hunter nudged him with his blaster and said, "Which way now?"

"Keep going to the end, then turn right," Quinlan answered. "There should be a lift nearby that can take us straight down."

Crosshair paused mid-step. "Is the lift large enough to carry a Hutt?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

A rapid _clank-clank-clank,_ like a rotating chain, sounded some distance ahead.

Crosshair lifted his rifle and lowered his voice. "Because there's a Hutt heading past the end of this hall."

Quinlan snapped his fingers. "Aw, _nuts."_

"That's putting it mildly," Tech said, blinking at his tiny computer screen. "Grakkus does not seem to have observed us, but my readings indicate that twelve life forms have just come through the main entrance."

"Must have seen the guards," Wrecker mused.

Hunter tapped his blaster against his leg. "We're in trouble."

The four commandos turned as one to face Quinlan, who smirked. "Rule number one of being an operative," he told them. "Pursuers never look up."

"That's rule number _one?_ " Wrecker sounded skeptical as he and the others pulled ascension cables from their belts.

"Okay, maybe not rule number one," Quinlan allowed, twirling his knife around his fingers. He watched the commandos fire their ascenders into the high ceiling. As they were drawn up and disappeared into the shadows, he tilted his head back thoughtfully. "On second thought, yes, it is. All the rules are rule number one when you're an operative."

"Right," Hunter whispered loudly from the darkness. "Any chance one of those rule number ones involves not being seen?"

Quinlan sniffed and sheathed his knife. Drawing the Force around him, he leaped up, braced a hand and a foot against the wall, then bounced to the opposite wall. He continued in this way until he'd reached the others, then grabbed onto Hunter's and Crosshair's cables with either hand and hung between them.

Wrecker's posture implied that he was impressed.

Crosshair's didn't. "You don't have a cable?"

Quinlan shrugged. "Yeah, but it's more fun this way."

Tech clung to his cable with one hand, observing the screen on his wrist. "They are getting closer . . ."

"Everyone shut up," Hunter requested.

Quinlan, who already had his mouth closed, lowered himself gently between the two cables and closed his eyes. The flicker of immediate danger had vanished, but a tangible hum in the Force indicated a threat.

Shuffling steps and quiet whispers were all that could be heard for several moments. Then, a man spoke. "Looks empty, but _something_ took out those probes. Okay, Aurra, get this level cleared while I find out what the intruders could be after. And no mistake, you hear me?"

"Cool it, Sunton," replied a harsh female voice. "I know my way around."

Quinlan Vos stared contemplatively at the opposite wall as he considered that voice. Aurra Sing was here. Aurra Sing, the Palliduvan bounty hunter who was known for her deadly sniping, her creepy biological implants, and her merciless and unnecessary kills. Of course this stupid mission _had_ to keep complicating itself, didn't it?

Muttering voices and clomping boots faded away, and Quinlan stared at Hunter for a moment. They both turned to Crosshair, who shook his head, staring intently at the floor halfway down the hall. Someone was still there.

In the Force, however. . . Quinlan narrowed his eyes. The other Jedi who had come across Aurra Sing reported that she seemed to be slightly Force-sensitive. Quinlan could now confirm this – she had just enough ability to mute her signature in the Force. She probably wasn't even aware of it.

A beam of light pierced the hall, swerved in a careful circle, and moved slowly out of the room. After a long moment, it faded away completely.

They waited for the space of a slow breath.

Then another.

Then another. Then –

The light flashed on, focused towards the stairway.

Crosshair twitched in response, but Quinlan jerked on the cable to catch his attention and shook his head.

For a long minute, they hung there silently, barely breathing. Finally, the light vanished again. This time, Quinlan nodded and dropped soundlessly to the ground.

The commandos descended slowly, released their cables from the ceiling, and clipped them back to their belts.

"You know who that was?" Hunter asked.

"Yeah. . . . Well, the woman, anyway. She's a Palliduvan named Aurra Sing."

"Dangerous?"

"Very." Quinlan Vos stared into the darkness for a moment. "She's gone up against Jedi and survived. . . And she's very sure of her own skills. I figure that once she clears a room, she'll move on without doubling back."

"Like just now?" Wrecker asked. "Looked like she doubled back to me."

"No, that was her making sure the room was empty. Most people who freeze while a threat is present will move once the threat is gone."

"Did you know she'd check?" Tech asked curiously.

"I figured she would. It's a common trick among bounty hunters who are smart enough to use it. And she definitely is smart enough."

"So we follow her," Hunter suggested. "Only get to the vault after she thinks it's clear."

"Exactly." Quinlan, keeping one hand on his knife, led the way down the hall.

Hunter, his squad mates, and the Jedi had to pause to avoid three separate patrols before they finally reached the lift that would take them to the vault entrance.

Hunter knelt at the edge of the corridor and peered carefully out in both directions, listening to the pulses that told him where the strong currents led.

"No droids," he whispered to the others.

Opposite from him, Crosshair stood up. "Nothing in sight."

Tech darted across the open area and plugged a device into the lift control panel. As he set to work, Wrecker and Crosshair stepped into the hall, turning in opposite directions to keep watch. Hunter stood between them, blaster in one hand and knife in the other.

Quinlan Vos joined Tech, moving with an almost habitual air of nonchalance, but Hunter could tell that the Jedi was more nervous than he let on. His fingers kept tapping at his knife hilt, and he'd repositioned his holster, putting his hold-out blaster in easy reach of his right hand.

Hunter had what his instructors called an instinct for trouble, and they'd meant it literally. He'd always known when danger was approaching, though why that was, no one could really say. Hunter felt that creeping sensation now, and he shifted to glance back at the corridor they'd just left.

"I found the security codes," whispered Tech. "Shall we go down now, or wait?"

The Jedi tilted his head. "Grakkus is still down there, but he's only got a couple of guys with him. . ."

"We shouldn't stay here," Hunter cut in.

Quinlan cast him a quick glance. "Okay, Tech, take us down."

They stepped hurriedly onto the lift, Wrecker joining them last, and Tech tapped in the code.

With a quiet hum, the lift descended.

Hunter exchanged a look with Crosshair, who brought his rifle up to his shoulder, ready to fire the instant he laid eyes on a target.

"Do we blow the vault entrance?" Hunter asked.

"Speed is our priority," Vos said composedly. "Also, this is the last time I go on a mission without my lightsaber."

"Hm." Hunter dropped into a crouch, ready to lunge forward. "You ever say that before?"

"Uh . . . yeah."

The lift settled with a _clunk,_ and the doors slid open, revealing a clay-colored room with a huge metal door in the opposite wall. Glowpanels covered the rest of the walls, casting a steady, yellow light over the interior.

"That's the vault," Quinlan Vos said. "But I don't see Grakkus."

"Maybe he's inside," Hunter suggested.

"One moment. . ." Tech tapped away at his wrist consol. "The vault scans as empty."

"Can I set the explosives?" Wrecker pleaded.

Hunter inclined his head. "Just don't destroy the vault itself, Wrecker."

Wrecker grabbed a few charges from Tech's backpack. "Okay, Sarge!"

"I don't get it," Quinlan said, stepping into the room. "Where'd Grakkus go?"

Hunter shrugged. "Maybe he went back up to –" He paused, tilting his head. There was something – "Wrecker!"

The big clone spun around, and the laser meant for his head scorched past his shoulder.

Instantly, the four commandos threw themselves to either side. A huge droid with long rifles for arms stepped out of a recess in the wall, firing rapidly.

Hunter rolled away, snatching at an EC detonator on his belt, but before he could arm it, Quinlan Vos dashed forward. The Jedi dropped to his knees and bent backwards, skidding directly underneath the lasers. He jumped to his feet as he neared the droid, then stabbed his knife into its chest.

The droid stepped heavily back, slammed one rifle into the Jedi's chest, and the other into his back. Vos dropped to his knees with a breathless gasp, and Hunter jumped, slashing the droid through its neck while Wrecker tore off one of its arms.

With a dull _clank_ , it staggered to one side, lifting its other rifle. Crosshair's shot went straight up the barrel of the droid's gun, exploding the cartridge. Tech shot it four times in the head, and Wrecker stabbed his knife straight through the hole Vos' knife had made.

The droid shut down with a dull hum, and it clattered to the stone floor.

"Oww." Vos stumbled up, one hand against his chest. ". . . Thanks."

Hunter nodded absently, already turning away, and Crosshair moved across the room, carefully checking for other hidden enemies.

" _Now_ I can set the explosives," Wrecker declared, hurrying to the vault doors.

Tech gestured at the Jedi with both pistols. "For a special operative, you seem to have an unusual propensity for getting caught by your adversaries. Why did you rush that droid head-on with only a knife?"

"Because I don't have my _lightsaber,_ and I was trying to keep you guys from getting shot," the Jedi grumbled, shoving his hair out of his grease-blackened face. "If I were doing this on my own, and didn't have to be worried about getting recognized as a Jedi, I'd have had no trouble taking it down."

"Hm." Tech seemed unconvinced.

Hunter observed him for a moment, then turned to watch Wrecker. This was the first time he had seen the Jedi in action, and so far Quinlan Vos did not appear particularly competent. At the same time, he had a long history of successful missions. . . And he seemed willing to put himself in danger, which could be good or bad depending on whether or not he could really defend himself, or whether he'd just drag the commandos into more danger when they had to rescue him.

That was a problem for later, though. For now, Hunter would just have to keep an eye on him.

"Okay!" yelled Wrecker. "Charge is set!"

Hunter stepped away from the door just as the explosives went off, destroying the immense hinges. The metal door fell slowly toward the ground, gathering momentum, and slammed into the floor with a _clang_ that made Hunter wince.

As the others moved toward the dark opening, Tech, who was closest to the door, peeked inside.

The shriek of a siren, from the floor above them, caught their attention, and they all paused to look back at the lift, which remained motionless.

"We need to move," Quinlan muttered.

Hunter nodded and turned back to the vault in time to see a huge fist shoot out of the opening and slam into Tech's faceplate.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on Friday. :) Have a lovely week, everyone!


	9. Escaping the Vault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update, as promised! :P

When the siren went off, Quinlan whipped around to stare at the lift, which remained inactive – for now. "We need to move," he told Hunter, who nodded.

The Force whispered, and Quinlan glanced back at the vault. But the vault was empty, so the danger couldn't be coming from –

A huge fist shot through the doorway and slammed into Tech's helmet. The young commando staggered back, both hands lifted to his face, and dropped to one knee.

"It's Grakkus!" yelled Quinlan, running toward Tech.

Impossibly, Grakkus moved faster. The Hutt squeezed halfway through the door, metal legs clanking unevenly over the fallen door, then grabbed Tech by both arms and lifted him into the air.

Wrecker, who was the closest, threw himself bodily against the Hutt. Grakkus released Tech with one hand and slammed his weight into Wrecker, knocking him flat. As Wrecker scrambled to his feet, the Hutt backed into the vault like some huge krayt dragon returning to its lair. His voice rumbled out into the main chamber. "Kill them if they approach."

Hunter and Quinlan stopped at the same time and stared at the entrance to the vault. Wrecker cracked his knuckles and prepared to charge inside, but Crosshair's rifle across his chest brought him up short.

"Hey!" the big clone shouted, rounding on Crosshair. "He's got Tech!"

"He also has guards," Crosshair said coolly. He turned to face Quinlan, his eyes accusing. "The vault wasn't empty."

_And I didn't sense it,_ Quinlan thought, finishing Crosshair's implied statement.

Hunter shook his head and gestured them away from the door, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Something must have blocked Tech's scanners."

"So what?" Wrecker demanded. "That doesn't matter right _now_."

"It does matter." Hunter removed his helmet, tilted his head back for a moment, and glanced at Quinlan. "It's blocking . . . I can't tell if there are any droids in there. How many enemies do you sense?"

"Two biologicals besides Grakkus, and I've got no idea about any droids," said Quinlan. "But Wrecker's right. We've got to get Tech out of there before Grakkus decides to eat him or something."

The three commandos swung to face him, projecting various levels of shock, disgust, and worry in the Force.

"I didn't mean that _literally,_ sheesh," Quinlan muttered – rather unreasonably, since he did not actually know whether Hutts ate humans or not. _Probably_ not. . . hopefully not.

Hunter replaced his helmet. "We might have to wait for Tech to make a move. If he's even conscious."

Wrecker sighed, sounding very put upon. "Negotiation first?"

Hunter nodded. "You're up, Wrecker. Vos' voice or mine might be recognized."

Quinlan realized that these guys really were professional, able to put the mission before everything else. That was – good. . .

Wrecker cleared his throat. "Hey, GRAKKUS!"

"What is it, thief." The Hutt sounded insulted and bored at the same time, and nothing could be heard from Tech.

Wrecker shoved his helmet back on his head like a hat. "We, uh, want to talk."

"Of course you do, now that I have one of you in my grasp." The Hutt chuckled in a deep voice. "But none of you will be leaving here, so . . . go ahead. Talk."

Wrecker looked confused for a moment. "Uh – how 'bout you let him go?"

Hunter shook his head in despair and Wrecker shrugged expansively.

"I think not," Grakkus replied.

The conversation came to an abrupt end.

Quinlan leaned closer to Hunter and whispered, "Shouldn't Crosshair be the one negotiating?"

Hunter simply looked at him.

"Okay, bad idea, I get it. . ." _Not really, because how could Crosshair be worse at negotiations than Wrecker, but – whatever._

Quinlan bit his lip thoughtfully. He didn't want to take crazy risks with these guys' lives, but Aurra Sing would, no doubt, be down here soon. He shut his eyes for a moment and concentrated. As far as he could sense, Tech was awake. And the guards –

Quinlan turned to Crosshair and grabbed his arm. "Listen. The guards are in front of Grakkus. Get close to the doors and take care of them."

Without so much as an answering nod, Crosshair broke away and ran across the room, getting as far out of the door's range of view as possible before approaching it from the back.

"Hunter," whispered Quinlan. "I'll take care of Tech. You get some of those weapons we talked about."

Hunter, without moving an inch, managed to appear dissatisfied.

Wrecker, in the meantime, lost patience. He shoved his helmet back down over his face and yelled in exasperation. "Let him go, or when I get my hands on you, I'll _smash_ you like the slug you are!"

Quinlan raised an eyebrow, then turned back to Hunter. "Look, trust me on this. I've got the Force."

"Yeah," Hunter said begrudgingly. "Whatever that means . . . Fine."

Grakkus chuckled heavily, sounding just like Jabba on his worst days. "I am tired of this nonsense. Who are you, and why did you break into my vault?"

Before Wrecker could speak, Tech cut in. "We didn't break into your vault. We were _attempting_ to break in, you –" He cut off suddenly with a gag.

Hunter stepped forward, and Quinlan stopped him as Crosshair neared the door.

"Tell me what you want from my vault, thief!" Grakkus called. "Before I break your skinny companion's neck."

Tech yelped, his voice a bit higher than normal. "You break my neck and it'll be the last thing you ever do! I'll set off this grenade!"

"Whoa . . ." said Quinlan.

Everyone fell silent to consider their options.

Crosshair stepped into the doorway, fired twice, and stepped back out.

There was another ringing period of silence.

"You're next, Grakkus!" hollered Wrecker. "Unless you let him go, _now!_ "

"Hmm." The Hutt, still holding Tech by his upper arms, moved into sight, his wide face complacent. Tech was holding a thermal, but Grakkus jerked his arm back until he dropped it.

Quinlan eyed the explosive suspiciously. _I really hope that wasn't armed. ._.

"I see I have underestimated you, bounty hunters," Grakkus said.

Hunter moved forward, apparently forgetting that he was supposed to be remaining silent. "Release him, Grakkus, and we'll let you live."

"I don't trust that easily, thief."

"How about this." Hunter took another step, his voice darkening. "Release him, or you'll die now."

Grakkus laughed heavily. "It is touching that you think you can defeat me when _Jedi_ have failed to do so."

"Yeah, well." Hunter moved even closer, signaling for Crosshair to move back. "We haven't been impressed by the Jedi so far."

Quinlan blinked. _Ouch_.

Tech tried to reach his pistol, and Grakkus jerked his hands up, dangling his prisoner by his wrists. Tech squirmed and kicked backwards, catching Grakkus in the face.

The Hutt threw him to the ground and clanked forward to rest a metallic foot on his chest. Tech lay flat on his back, a bit stunned, but mostly looking silently furious.

Hunter almost seemed to hesitate, then turned to Quinlan. "Okay, we'll do it your way. Wrecker!"

Wrecker charged forward, locked both arms around one of Grakkus', and pulled at him with all his considerable strength.

Hunter dashed past him, ducked beneath Wrecker's elbows, and disappeared into the vault. Grakkus turned to follow, then paused to consider his prisoner.

Quinlan was already in position. He leaped into the air and landed a hard sideways kick against Grakkus' skin, right near the cybernetic leg. Grakkus jerked back with a bellow of pain, and Quinlan landed beside Tech and shoved him gracelessly out of the way.

The metal foot stomped down where Tech's arm had been moments before, and Tech scrambled up, a bit unsteadily, but with both pistols drawn.

Grakkus jerked himself free of the door and lunged at Quinlan, who slid aside in the nick of time. Crosshair pulled Tech back and shoved him back against the wall before he could get flattened. Grakkus swung around and slammed his long tail into Wrecker, who went reeling into the wall.

Quinlan shoved his hair out of his face, took a step back, launched himself into the air, and landed a highly satisfying kick on Grakkus' forehead.

The Hutt grabbed at him, and Quinlan turned and ran. With any luck, he could keep Grakkus off the commandos. . .

_CLANK-clank-clank-CLANK-clank-clank._

Quinlan took one look over his shoulder and bolted towards the far wall. Grakkus rushed after him, his entire body rippling like some overgrown tree worm's as he moved.

With a rush, Quinlan passed Crosshair, who stated, "You should get to the lift."

The guy had no nerves, seriously.

Quinlan reached the wall, skidded around, put a hand on the rough skin of Grakkus' back, and vaulted over him, landing unsteadily. Ugh, Hutts felt so gross.

Grakkus gathered himself and lunged, and Quinlan executed a somersault, then a full-length dive, to avoid him.

Hunter ran out of the vault, his arms full of lightsaber hilts, and tossed them onto the lift. "Get on there, now!" he shouted at the others.

Tech stumbled, and Wrecker grabbed him under one arm and hustled him onto the lift, with Hunter following close behind. Once again, Crosshair was out of sight.

Grakkus let out a strangely animalistic bellow and sped up. Quinlan saved himself from being run over only by flinging himself sideways and landing hard on the stones.

He got up again just as Tech kicked Wrecker in the knee, freed himself, and activated the lift, which swiftly rose some twelve feet into the air. "Awesome," muttered Quinlan, glancing at his pursuer. Now all he had to do was get there. . .

Grakkus swerved again, his body curved so that he trapped Quinlan in the corner between the vault and the wall. One huge hand grasped at his shoulder.

Crosshair appeared out of nowhere, reversed his rifle, and slammed it down, hard, onto Grakkus' wide head.

"You coming?" he asked Quinlan impatiently.

Quinlan didn't have the breath to argue or snark back. He simply vaulted Grakkus again and ran.

They reached the lift, which had only a couple of feet remaining between it and the edge of the ceiling. Hunter, his ankles held firmly by Wrecker, hung down to grab Crosshair's wrists. The sniper got to the lift in less time than Quinlan had thought possible, and then it was his turn.

He grabbed Hunter's wrists, and was halfway up when Wrecker shouted, "Oh, man, look OUT!"

Crosshair dropped flat and grabbed one of Quinlan's wrists, dragging him unceremoniously to the floor of the lift.

Quinlan rolled to his feet and turned.

Grakkus reared back on six sets of legs and lunged upward. His strangely large hands clutched at the lift's railings, while a pair of metal legs slammed into the floor.

Tech hit the controls, sending the lift upward, but it rose very slowly, straining against Grakkus' strength.

Quinlan caught his breath and then looked down at the lightsabers Thank goodness. He grabbed a couple and stared down at Grakkus.

"So anyway. There's this thing about lightsabers you should remember.. You don't need to be a Jedi to use one."

He ignited both lightsabers – one green, one blue – and slashed the metal legs in half. Grakkus dropped like a stone, then lunged up once again, but the lift was already too high for him to reach.

His angry roar followed them into the shaft.

"Everyone okay?" Hunter demanded. "Tech?"

"I am fine," Tech said. "However, we might not be in a moment. Twelve life forms at the top of the shaft."

"Grenade?" suggested Quinlan, powering down the lightsabers.

Wrecker shoved Hunter and Tech, who were forced back into Crosshair and Quinlan until they all backed against one side of the lift.

"Wrecker," the sergeant began.

Wrecker laughed and tossed his gun to Hunter. "Who needs a grenade?"

"Uh." Quinlan thought he should point out that twelve enemies was a pretty large number, but the lift ground to a halt, and Wrecker charged out, roaring like a maniac.

Quinlan ought to know – he'd been acquainted with several maniacs over the years.

He sniffed and waited until the others had left before slashing the lift controls. It would take the technicians quite a while to fix that, so Grakkus shouldn't be a problem for at least a day or so.

Crosshair wandered down the hall, stunning any guards that survived Wrecker's charge. Hunter gave the rest of the lightsabers to Tech to carry. "Stay out of the fighting, Tech," he warned.

Tech quirked his mouth to one side, looking very displeased, but obeyed with a short nod.

The last guard had just dropped when a shot rang out. Quinlan jumped to the side, and a red bolt seared into the wall two feet from his head.

At the far end of the hall, Aurra Sing was sauntering towards them, her rifle against one shoulder as her other hand rested on her hip. "Going somewhere, boys?"

"Yeah," Hunter said, readying his knife for a throw. "Past you."

"I don't think so, honey."

Hunter tilted his head in apparent confusion, and Quinlan cleared his throat and stepped in. "I know about you, Aurra. Your skills are impressive, but so are ours. And we kind of outnumber you."

She smirked, the dark circles around her eyes standing out in her pale face. "Any other idiotic things you'd like to say?"

"If you wanted to kill us right off, you'd be shooting, not talking," Quinlan said. "So what's the deal?"

"I see you stole some of Grakkus' precious lightsabers. How much are they worth?"

The four commandos turned to Quinlan, who smirked at them. "You guys want to get by her without fighting?"

"We could take her," said Hunter.

"Oh, I know." Quinlan glanced at Hunter and lowered his voice. "But – we'd probably sustain some pretty serious injuries. She's not an ordinary bounty hunter."

He stepped by the others, reaching over to Tech for a lightsaber as he walked past him. "Okay, it's a deal. Long as you promise not to shoot us in the backs."

She scoffed, though her eyes remained sharply focused as they approached. "I wouldn't gain anything by shooting you in the back. Though it might be more merciful to kill you than to let Grakkus catch you."

Quinlan tossed her the saber. "You're not wrong . . . And on that note, better not let Grakkus catch you with that."

Aurra smirked cruelly and turned away. "If he does, it'll be the end of him."

Quinlan kept his eyes straight forward, though the tension from the commandos was palpable as they walked away from Aurra. "Keep it together, guys," he whispered.

The instant they turned the corner to the long stairway, Quinlan tapped Hunter on the shoulder. "Okay, guys, _run._ "

They obeyed, and no one spoke another word us they dashed to the exit, across the empty plaza, and towards the pipeline entrance on the far side.

Crosshair, who was in front, dropped to one knee and opened the grate. One by one, the others dropped inside, and they scrambled down a short ladder to the huge, empty, echoing pipeline.

Tech stopped to catch his breath. "Why did we have to escape so fast?"

"Because Aurra's got a _horrible_ temper," Quinlan replied.

Hunter swung around to face him. "And why would she be angry?"

"Well." Quinlan tossed a tiny crystal into the air and caught it. "I may possibly have removed the kyber crystal from the lightsaber I gave her."

Crosshair hummed a laugh. "I thought you did."

"Wait, you saw that?"

The sniper inclined his head and set off, leading the way down the tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know, either here or at any other point in the story, if any of the characters are out of character. . . Thank you! :)


	10. Sidetracked

The commandos' quiet footsteps echoed in the empty pipeline, the sound building on itself as they traveled.

The pipe, illuminated by their helmet lights, was copper-colored and dry as a bone, but there was no dust to be seen. Hunter considered this for a moment. Maybe the pipe was Nar Shaddaa's version of a ventilation shaft, perhaps drawing air from the cleaner, higher levels to the lower. Consistent air movement would ensure that there was no buildup of dust.

Ahead of him, Quinlan Vos signaled a halt and went down on one knee to brush at the floor. When he said nothing, Hunter slipped around Tech to join him. There was nothing on the ground that he could see, but _something_ seemed to be holding Vos' interest.

"What is it?" Hunter asked after a moment.

"Someone was here, recently." Quinlan rose and brushed his hands against his tunic, casting a swift look behind them. He stretched slightly, wincing, and Hunter remembered that he had been hit pretty hard.

Hunter wondered whether any of the Jedi wore full armor – which would make sense, if they were in active battle zones – and why Quinlan only wore a partial chest plate and gauntlets. At least he'd removed the shoulder guard with the unusual design, which would have served as a way of identification for anyone who had seen him previously. It didn't seem that one shoulder guard would be particularly useful, anyway . . .

The Jedi hesitated, then bent down and touched the ground again. "Hmm."

After a long moment, he started forward again without explanation. Hunter paused, glancing back at his squad mates. Crosshair tilted his head suspiciously, but Wrecker followed the Jedi without concern. Tech squinted at his datapad, blinking frequently.

"Blurry vision?" Hunter checked, elbowing him.

"No." Tech continued to work.

"Headache?"

Tech ignored him.

"Headache," Hunter confirmed. "Come on, put your datapad away until we get back to the ship. You can look through intel later."

Tech obeyed grudgingly.

When they reached a fork in the filtration system, Quinlan paused again, touching the floor, then the walls. He stared down the right-hand tunnel for a long moment before casting a sideways look at the commandos.

Hunter spoke before he could. "We need to go left and up to get to the exit."

"Yeah," Quinlan said absently. "You guys go ahead. I'll meet you later."

"Why?" Crosshair demanded.

"There's . . . something I want to check out."

Hunter stepped forward. "We need to get back to the ship before Vythia tries to contact you again. We wanted Grakkus' attention, and we've got it."

Quinlan finally turned to look at him. "Yeah, but Grakkus is trapped for now."

"You don't know that."

"Listen, I'm just going to do a little investigating. I'll meet you back at the ship in a couple of hours."

Hunter hesitated for half an instant, then straightened. "No."

The Jedi's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. ". . . No?"

"We've completed one objective, not the mission," Hunter said. "We can't risk it by getting sidetracked."

"You won't be _getting_ sidetracked," Quinlan said, starting to look irked. "You guys will be right where you're supposed to be – on your ship."

"Hunter is right." Tech stepped forward, looking earnestly at the Jedi. "If something happens to you while we are absent, Vythia might still hire us, but it would be pointless, as we would have no idea of what we should be doing."

"Ugh, yeah . . ." Vos folded his arms defensively and looked back at the right-hand tunnel, which disappeared in a sharp drop.

Crosshair wandered to the edge of the drop and stared down for a long moment, then came back. "Why is that tunnel so important?"

"I don't know. I just have this feeling. . ." After a moment, Quinlan's arms fell at his sides. He gave a shrug of surrender and turned toward the left tunnel. "Fine. We'll go back to the ship."

Crosshair glanced at Hunter and tilted his head in the direction of the right tunnel, and Hunter nodded. He removed his helmet and closed his eyes, automatically separating the hum of the various frequencies in his mind. . .

Nothing.

Whatever Vos was sensing, it wasn't droids or electrical traps. Hunter tapped the fingers of one hand against his leg. "Vos, hold on."

"What?"

 _I'm probably going to regret this,_ Hunter thought resignedly. "You really think whatever's in the tunnel is important?"

"Yeah. It's – a dark side of the Force kind of thing."

Wrecker looked from Quinlan to Hunter and back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sith-related," Quinlan said.

"Like the – uh – spirit urns?"

"Yeah."

"We'll investigate it," Hunter decided. "It could be related to the mission."

"And who put you in charge?" Quinlan said mildly.

Crosshair took a step closer to him, and Hunter spoke before he could cause any trouble. "One hour, Vos. Then we're heading back."

Quinlan looked suspiciously at him, his eyes glinting in the half-light cast by the commandos' helmets. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

Hunter smirked. "You didn't _really_ care when I said 'no' to you."

"Well, it sure was annoying," Vos replied, heading into the right-hand tunnel. "But what does that –"

"You didn't argue," Hunter interrupted. "You surrendered too easily."

"Which means what, exactly?"

Vos was good at the innocent act, but not good enough. Hunter worked with Crosshair and Tech on a daily basis. He knew most of the tricks by now. "You were going to come back later, after we returned to the ship. Might as well get it over with now."

The Jedi paused mid-step, then continued silently to the steep drop and turned to face them.

Tech came up beside Hunter and commented, "Silence is frequently taken as an admission of guilt."

The Jedi's eyes shifted to one side, but he didn't answer. "Uh . . . I'll head down first, and then you follow."

Tech looked up from his datapad, which he'd taken out again. "Evasive answers are also frequently taken as an admissi –"

Wrecker nudged him. "Cut it out, Tech!"

As Tech opened his mouth to argue, Hunter took the datapad from him and clipped it to Tech's belt. "I _said_ put that away."

Tech gave him a peevish look and pulled out his pistols.

Quinlan had his knife in one hand and a blaster in the other. At least he had the foresight to properly arm himself this time, Hunter thought, drawing his own knife and ignoring his gun.

The Jedi stepped off the edge and vanished. Four seconds later, the commandos heard a faint thud as he landed.

"All clear for the moment." His voice floated back up to them, strangely distorted by the surrounding metal. "You can slide down, or I can use the Force."

 _No thanks._ Hunter jumped over the edge, throwing his weight back so that he slid down the slanted wall of the pipe. The others followed quickly. Tech tripped at the bottom, as usual. Crosshair landed easily and stepped away from the wall, and Wrecker plowed into him anyway.

"So." Hunter studied his surroundings, ignoring the whispered argument between Wrecker and Crosshair. Ahead of them, the pipe turned sharply, and he peered around it into a wide room constructed of the same dull material. "What are we looking for, Vos?"

The Jedi stood motionless, hands held out to either side, his fingers barely brushing the rusty walls. From some distance away sounded the persistent, dull _tap tap tap_ of dripping water. "I . . . don't know."

 _Perfect._ Hunter turned to his team. "Spread out, but stay close. Tech, you're with Wrecker. Let's find out what's going on down here."

Quinlan moved forward cautiously, his focus almost entirely attuned to the Force as it shifted around him. The vague impressions left by the object's owner on the tunnel walls and floor were familiar – too familiar – and yet he couldn't place them.

From somewhere nearby, an object bled darkness into the Force.

He knelt to touch the ground again, not thinking, just allowing the possessive, avaricious feeling to sweep through his mind as it had earlier, when he'd put those lightsabers into Hunter's pack . . .

Quinlan touched the lightsaber on his belt. The feeling was much fainter, but still present, which meant –

"Grakkus," he announced, getting to his feet. "Grakkus has been down here recently. Look for another tunnel. He's got to have an entrance point."

Crosshair moved off around the left side of the room while Wrecker and Tech took the right. The clinking sound of water against metal was louder now, but steady and slower than it had been. Quinlan couldn't tell where it was coming from – the echoes confused and blurred the direction.

Hunter moved uneasily. "What could Grakkus want down here?"

"I don't know." Quinlan moved toward the far end of the room, which was hidden in shifting darkness. "I think it's got something to do with that artifact. It's here. Somewhere."

Tech suddenly swung around. "Hunter. According to my calculations, we're back on the same level as the vault."

Crosshair rested his rifle across his arm and strolled across the room, speaking over one shoulder. "Grakkus might not be as trapped as we hoped."

"Find that entrance," ordered Hunter. "Vos, hurry it up with the artifact."

Quinlan wondered if he should complain about being given orders by the sergeant, but Hunter was right about the need for speed. He shut his eyes and focused on the leeching blackness that spilled into the Force. It was just below eye level, he could tell that much . . .

The loud _creak_ of an opening door interrupted his thoughts.

"I found the tunnel!" called Wrecker.

As Quinlan turned to face him, the sound of the water dripping on metal grew suddenly fast and loud, as though – approaching . . .

 _Aw, snap._ Quinlan reached for the lightsaber on his belt. _Guess that wasn't water I was hearing._

_CLANK-clank-clank-CLANK-clank-clank . . ._

"Oh, boy!" Wrecker yelled. "Uhh, guys? This isn't good!"

"Take out the entrance!" Hunter shouted. "Wrecker, take it out!"

Wrecker stepped back and reached into his pack for an explosive.

"Vos, get that artifact!" Hunter spun to face the tunnel.

 _Sir, right away, sir._ Despite his sarcastic thought, Quinlan was already sprinting for the far wall. The relic was near – its presence scored into his mind, distracting him, as though it didn't want to be found.

Quinlan activated the lightsaber, but the brilliant blue light from its blade revealed nothing but an empty wall. The artifact must be inside it, and whatever switch or button opened the vault was either well-hidden or invisible.

Fine. Quinlan held one hand toward the wall, palm outward, and willed the artifact towards him. The faintest clink behind one particular panel told him its position.

An explosion and a loud _thud_ from behind made him turn halfway around.

Wrecker had landed hard, some distance from the metal tunnel he'd been attempting to destroy. The circular door was bent sideways, and the mouth of the tunnel had been badly warped. Good. That opening was now much too small for Grakkus, the overweight slug, to get through.

With a quick motion, Hunter sent Tech to cover Wrecker as he and Crosshair cautiously approached the tunnel.

Quinlan turned back to the metal panel, slashed it diagonally – first one way, then the other – and landed a hard kick against it. The metal shattered along the lines he'd cut, revealing a small alcove. A black vase with a sealed top lay on its side.

 _Huh, it_ is _a spirit urn._ Quinlan almost reached for it, but hesitated, rubbing the fingers of one hand together. He could have wrapped the urn in his cape, except that he'd left it back in his starfighter. Blast, he _really_ wished he hadn't worn fingerless gloves.

A sudden tap on his shoulder made him jump and whirl. Tech raised both hands apologetically, his gaze traveling to the alcove. "You found it."

"Yeah. . ."

Hunter and Crosshair still stood in front of the damaged door, and Wrecker was moving unsteadily over to join them. Quinlan checked the tunnel, but couldn't see anything. All he knew was, it was too quiet. "Hey, where'd Grakkus go?"

"Not sure," Hunter said. "He must have backed off after the explosion, because he's nowhere in sight."

Tech lowered his transparent visor over his goggles, and it lit up briefly with a green map. "Hm. There is a fork in that tunnel, approximately twenty meters away from the doorway. Grakkus is in it. He – seems to be waiting." He glanced up, pursing his lips, and raised his visor. "The doorway is too small for him now. What exactly is he waiting for?"

"Nothing good," Quinlan said. He went back to staring at the spirit urn as Tech hovered at his elbow. "Okay . . ."

Behind them, Hunter said, "Wrecker, what happened with the charge?"

"It went off early." Wrecker sounded a bit dazed, which Quinlan supposed was to be expected.

"Yes," Hunter said patiently. "Why?"

"I – dunno."

Tech glanced away from the artifact briefly. "There may have been some sort of mine, set to go off if the door was opened from the outside."

As the commandos continued their discussion, Quinlan stepped to the alcove and studied the urn through narrowed eyes. He could destroy it – but not here, not when they were already exposed to danger. He'd have to take it with him . . . Ugh. Quinlan took a deep breath, wished once more that he was wearing full gloves, and reached for the artifact.

* * *

Hunter kept half his attention on the partially closed-off tunnel as he checked on each of his squad mates. Crosshair stood beside him, breathing only lightly as his focus remained riveted on Grakkus' position. The instant he saw movement, Hunter knew, he'd fire. Wrecker had been mostly unharmed by the blast, though he was still recovering his balance. Tech stood behind the Jedi, watching with interest as Vos reached slowly into the small hole in the wall.

Hunter wondered why he was taking so long to get the artifact.

With a sudden burst of movement, Quinlan grabbed something, jerked his hand out, and shoved it into Tech's hands, grimacing. "Just a sec. Put it in here."

He spun a surprised Tech around and opened his pack. Tech dropped the artifact in, and Quinlan closed the pack with a shiver.

Hunter eyed him cautiously. "Vos –"

A shot rang out, and Hunter swung around. Crosshair twisted, firing back towards the entrance they'd originally come through. There was a flash of orange as Aurra Sing dodged the laser and vanished into the darkness.

Hunter raised a hand and jerked it to one side. The four commandos scattered, taking up positions near the tunnel wall and the one opposite it.

Quinlan Vos crouched beside Hunter and Crosshair, his face tense. "Okay, so maybe making her mad was a bad idea."

"Can you handle her?" Hunter demanded.

The Jedi started to answer, paused, and nodded. "I'll try."

He took a step forward just as Aurra leaned around the corner. Vos broke into a run, dodging from side to side every couple of steps.

Hunter jumped up and followed. The Jedi's pattern of dodging was too predictable –

Another shot. Hunter threw his weight against Vos, who went staggering to one side as the laser flew harmlessly past his head.

Crosshair fired twice, and Aurra vanished again.

Hunter took cover against the wall and cast Vos a disapproving look. "I _thought_ Jedi used their lightsabers to block lasers."

Vos gritted his teeth. "I – didn't sense the shot coming," he muttered, giving his head a vicious shake. "Blasted Sith artifacts."

An uneven step behind them caught Hunter's attention. "Crosshair?"

The sniper steadied himself. "That first shot caught me. Not badly."

Hunter exchanged a look with Quinlan, who tapped him on the arm. "Let me try something. You guys get ready."

He stood up and called, "Aurra! You've got my attention, if that's what you're after."

"Shut it," replied the woman coldly. "We're not bargaining this time."

"Good, because I wasn't intending to." Vos edged closer to the entrance where Aurra hid.

Her voice sharpened with suspicion. "Then what _do_ you want?"

"To get off this miserable planet relatively intact. What do you want?"

"Your life."

"Oh." Quinlan dropped into a crouch, continuing to speak in a casual, almost friendly tone. "See, I kind of want to keep that, so it looks like you're – stuck!" He somersaulted, twisted halfway through so that he rounded the edge of the tunnel, and jumped to his feet, igniting his lightsaber.

Wrecker and Tech dashed after him, and Hunter waved Crosshair to move ahead.

There was a sudden rush of clanking feet, echoing and pounding in the damaged tunnel behind them.

Hunter spun around, firing unceasingly into the entrance.

Behind the warped door, Grakkus roared in anger and pain.

Two huge hands reached out of the opening and closed on the twisted metal. With a horrible rending _screech,_ the metal ripped apart and Grakkus lunged into the room.

Hunter backed away steadily, firing nonstop. His lasers struck Grakkus over and over, but scarcely seemed to slow the Hutt down. Beside him, Crosshair added his own precise shots to Hunter's.

"Hunter!" Tech shouted. "He's got metal plates beneath his skin. You need –!"

There was a crash from the other pipe, but Hunter didn't dare turn. His blaster clicked empty. He reached for another clip, automatically ejecting the old one as he moved, but Grakkus was already too close, towering over them.

Hunter dropped his blaster and raised his vibroblade. It looked small next to Grakkus' bulk. He should have asked Tech whether Hutts had hearts, and _where._

The Hutt, yellow eyes wide with rage, grabbed at him. Hunter dodged beneath his arms and stabbed him in the chest. His knife cut easily through the metal and Grakkus bellowed, grabbing Hunter's forearm and jerking him forward.

Hunter released the hilt and kicked off the Hutt, throwing his weight up and over his own arm to break free. He ducked in close, grabbed his knife, and ripped it out.

Grakkus reared up and threw himself forward. The two legs that Vos had cut through missed Hunter, but the second set hit him on the shoulder and the helmet, and he went flying. Grakkus slammed back onto the ground.

Hunter was up in an instant, stumbling from the ringing in his head. Crosshair stepped between him and Grakkus and fired three times into the Hutt's forehead.

Grakkus lunged. His enormous hands closed around Crosshair's upper arms, lifted him, hurled him across the room into the wall just above the tunnel the others were in.

Hunter barely noticed as Crosshair crumpled to the ground. He was running, climbing onto Grakkus' back, out of reach of those powerful arms. Grakkus reared up again, arching backward, and Hunter dropped flat, clutching at the Hutt's neck for all he was worth.

Quinlan Vos rushed from the other tunnel, tripped over Crosshair, and caught his balance. He yelled something over his shoulder and sprinted towards Grakkus as the Hutt slammed into the ground with a teeth-rattling shock.

Hunter, ignoring the pain in his jaw and head, caught his balance, steadied himself, and jumped.

He landed on his knees on top of Grakkus' head, clutched his knife in both hands, and stabbed downward. One of Grakkus' hands closed around his ankle and jerked, but Hunter clung grimly to the knife, forcing it down with everything he had.

Grakkus ripped him free, inflicting a dragging wound on his own skull, and slammed him down on his back with enough force to knock the breath entirely from his lungs.

Hunter turned reflexively on his side, convulsing as he tried to draw in oxygen around the stabbing pain in his chest. The Hutt reared above him one final time. Hunter's fingers clenched weakly at the ground as he struggled to move.

Grakkus descended.

In a blur of motion, Vos skidded to his knees beside Hunter and raised his lightsaber.

The Hutt twisted in midair, jerking partially away from the humming blade, but he was coming down too fast. The lightsaber pierced his side. Vos faltered beneath the crushing weight, fell sideways, and caught himself on one hand.

With an agonized roar, Grakkus twisted and floundered away, legs tapping erratically against the ground as he dragged himself a short distance from them.

Hunter, still unable to breathe, lurched into a sitting position, clenching his knife.

Quinlan switched his lightsaber to his left hand, caught Hunter beneath the shoulders with his right hand, and dragged him to his feet with surprising strength. They stumbled backwards toward the tunnel, Vos keeping his blue blade pointed at Grakkus.

"Thieves!" Grakkus roared after them, dragging himself a few steps forward. "I will hunt you to the ends of the galaxy!"

Quinlan, his eyes dark, raised his lightsaber warningly. "Don't tempt me, Grakkus."

Hunter's diaphragm finally stopped constricting, allowing him to draw in a short breath. "Vos – the others? Aurra?"

"Get oxygen now, ask questions later," replied Vos. They reached the tunnel, and the Jedi released Hunter and nudged him towards the opening. "Get in there."

Tech was waiting just inside, his mouth set in an impatient, worried line. "Wrecker and Crosshair are already up top, but Aurra Sing escaped."

Hunter fired his ascension cable without comment. A few moments later, he and Tech had reached the fork in the upper tunnel, where Wrecker stood alertly beside a wilting Crosshair.

"You holding up?" Hunter asked shortly, turning to watch the tunnel that lead back to the plaza.

" _Yes_ ," Crosshair hissed, which meant he'd already been asked that sometime in the past two minutes. "Where's Vos?"

"On his way. What happened with Aurra?"

"She backed off when Vos came at her," Tech reported. "She got up the tunnel before we could catch her and threw a grenade."

Wrecker gave one of his loud, vocal sighs. "Man, I HATE this!"

Crosshair flinched, lifting one hand toward his helmet. "Keep. It. _Down_."

"Sorry!" Wrecker's voice, while sincere, was only marginally less loud.

Quick footsteps approached, and Vos came into view, glancing over one shoulder as he ran. "Everyone here?"

"Yes," said Hunter, still regulating his breathing. "I assume we head left this time."

"Uh, yeah," Quinlan affirmed quickly. "I'll play rearguard in case Aurra gets any bright ideas."

Hunter signaled for Wrecker to take point and then stepped aside, waiting until his squad mates were all past him before following. His head was still pounding from the blow and from the lack of oxygen. As simple an injury as it might be, he knew he had to be careful. Nothing like sudden vertigo to put a short end to his usefulness on a dangerous mission.

And it was dangerous. Aside from Grakkus and his unknown number of bounty hunters and guards, Aurra Sing had escaped and was out for revenge. It would have been better to just deal with her the first time, but Vos' plan would have worked fine, had they not been sidetracked.

At the same time, Hunter didn't know much about these Sith and their strange artifacts. It was possible that they were much more dangerous than he'd originally thought, which would explain Vos' insistence on investigating that tunnel.

Hunter paused. There it was again, that cold, prickling feeling of encroaching danger. . .

He turned carefully to check their six. Vos turned also, then raised an eyebrow at him and whispered, "What's up?"

Hunter went back to walking. "I think we're being followed."

"Yeah . . ." Quinlan raised his voice suddenly. "Wrecker, take a right at the next fork and head straight up."

"Okay!"

Hunter started to protest. That wasn't the correct route back –

The faintest footstep behind them made Hunter close his mouth. Of course. They were being followed, and Vos was setting a trap for their pursuer.

As they reached the fork, Quinlan tapped Hunter's arm. "Pick up the pace. I'll be right back."

He slipped past the commandos and into the left tunnel. Crosshair stopped and looked questioningly at Hunter, who waved him on.

Tech fell back beside Hunter to whisper, "This isn't the right way."

"I know."

As he often did when thinking, Tech glanced up without moving his head, then nodded and continued on.

A triple shot from a sniper rifle, overlaid by the quick hissing hum of an igniting lightsaber, sounded behind them and was followed by the sharper sound of deflected lasers.

Wrecker swung around, and Hunter hesitated, one hand inching toward his knife.

"You're a Jedi?!" Aurra's voice echoed sharply in the tunnel.

Crosshair lifted his rifle, and Hunter stopped him.

"I'll tell you what I told Grakkus," Vos replied coolly. "You don't need to be a Jedi to use a lightsaber. Listen, Aurra. You're good at what you do, but you're in way over your head. Why don't you back off and we call it quits."

"Why did you want the lightsabers?" the Palliduvan asked suspiciously. "And what were you after in that room?"

"Why are you working for Grakkus?" retorted Quinlan. "For money. Lightsabers fetch a huge price on the black market."

"If they have the _crystals_ in them," she snapped. "We had a deal."

"Yeah. A lightsaber for safe passage. I never said I'd give you a lightsaber with a crystal in it."

There was a very long pause. The commandos were all but holding their breaths, listening to the dull _hum_ of the lightsaber.

Aurra gave a put-upon sigh. "Grakkus' bounty hunters are amateurs, but he has dozens of them. And I know where your shuttle is."

Hunter shifted, drawing his knife half out of his vambrace.

Quinlan deactivated his lightsaber. "And _I've_ been employed by the Prince. I take it you know that he only hires the best."

"What's he doing?" Crosshair whispered.

"No idea." Hunter moved closer to the passage's entrance.

"Listen," Vos said, his tone bored. "I'll make you a deal."

"Another one?" she sneered.

"Yeah. You get off our backs, and I won't tell the Prince that you're a direct threat to his – establishment."

Tech looked confused for a moment before murmuring, "Will that really stop her?"

"Who knows."

Aurra chuckled in a low voice. "Try again."

Vos cleared his throat. "I _also_ won't drop Grakkus an anonymous call telling him that you're in cahoots with the Prince."

There was a very long pause this time. Crosshair lifted his rifle with one arm.

"That will only work until I leave Grakkus' employ," said Aurra frostily.

"Yeah. I know."

A moment later, they heard retreating footsteps, which slowly faded into silence.

Hunter released his knife hilt, suddenly realizing he'd been holding his breath again, and Crosshair lowered his rifle abruptly.

Vos, brushing absently at his black tunic, sauntered into the tunnel and gave them a surprised look. "Still here?"

"No," said Crosshair, brushing past him and heading for the left-hand tunnel.

"Okay, good. Thought I was seeing things there for a moment . . ." Vos followed Crosshair and Wrecker.

Hunter fell in silently, wondering when, why, and if his sniper and the Jedi had decided to actively antagonize each other or whether it was just automatic.

"You think she'll keep away from us, Vos?" he asked.

"Yeah, for a few days at least. By then we should be off this crummy planet."

 _Crummy?_ Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Any idea if she's really working for the Prince?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

Tech hummed thoughtfully. "If she is, we'll have to deal with her later."

The Jedi turned to face them, walking backwards as he replied. "Yeah, but at that point we'd all be under the orders of Vythia, so Aurra won't cause any problems."

Hunter decided to take him at his word. Presumably, Vos knew what he was talking about, despite his somewhat careless method of speech. . . and casual approach . . . and the fact that he seemed to be a natural at annoying dangerous people . . . Maybe the commandos themselves were dangerous people. He was almost sure they were, and Vos might be dangerous, though Hunter hadn't really seen him in a combat situation where he could really use his skills. . . Though letting a Hutt fall onto a lightsaber was pretty effective, come to think of it. . .

Hunter shook his head and blinked. He must have been hit harder than he'd thought, because his mind was really wandering. Come to think of it, the sleepless night, heavy dose of caf, and the blow to the head probably were working together. . .

"Exit's just ahead!" Wrecker told them.

"Good." Quinlan moved past Wrecker to the front, climbed the rusted rungs of the service ladder, and opened the hatch. "All clear. Airbus is just over there."

One by one, the commandos climbed up, crossed the dimly lit, refuse-filled street, and got into the airbus.

Vos hopped into the driver's seat, casually shoving Crosshair into Tech, who had been riding shotgun. "You're injured, back off."

Hunter gave him an uncertain look, not wanting him to pilot, but knowing that he himself was probably not the safest option. "We're _all_ injured."

"Yeah, except me." Vos grinned, teeth white in his grease-blackened face. "I'll pilot, and you guys . . . hold on."


	11. Evaluation

By the time they reached the landing platform, Hunter was gripping the side of the airbus with one hand and the back of the pilot's seat with the other, wondering why in the universe he'd ever thought Tech was reckless.

Quinlan Vos took the word reckless, redefined it, and brought it to new heights. He didn't follow any foreseeable route, but flew erratically, only changing his direction when it seemed that a collision was inevitable. He piloted as though completely unaware of everything around him, cutting through airlanes, diving beneath the railings of walkways, and – at one memorable point – tilting the airbus almost on its side to dodge by mere centimeters a droid-driven speeder that had been in sight for a good four seconds.

Now, Vos pulled back on the steering yoke, cut speed halfway across the platform, and slammed on the brake. Before the airbus could even come to a stop, and without ever looking back, the Jedi hopped out and headed for the _Havoc Marauder,_ carefully checking the platform for signs of – what, Hunter didn't know.

Slowly releasing the side of the airbus, Hunter forced himself to his feet. Vos, he swore to himself, was _never_ flying again. Not with him as a passenger.

Tech got out and wobbled into Wrecker, who seemed completely unfazed by the insane piloting. For someone who hated heights, Wrecker sure didn't care about crazy flights or probable crashes. Or actual crashes, for that matter . . .

Hunter tilted his head back and removed his helmet, swallowing hard. He'd been through some rough flight sims and never once gotten sick. If the Kaminoans wanted to toughen up their pilots, or permanently scare them away from flying, they should put them in the co-pilot's seat and assign Vos to the controls.

His stomach lurched again, and he drew a slow breath, then cast a frown at Vos' retreating figure. It wasn't so much the motion of the ship itself – Tech was just about as bad, as far as that went – as the complete unpredictability of Vos' flight pattern.

Crosshair jacked himself out of the front seat, where he'd been squashed between Tech and Vos, and removed his own helmet. Raising a dark eyebrow in reply to Hunter's commiserating look, he said, "Vos is worse than Commander Cody."

"Hey, thanks." Quinlan materialized at his elbow, looking mildly preoccupied, then smirked as a thought struck him. "Y'know, I thought Cody was perfect at everything. What am I worse at?"

" _Everything_ ," replied Crosshair, and stalked off toward the ship to lower the boarding stairs.

Vos quirked his mouth to one side. "So, if I'm worse than perfect –"

Hunter did _not_ have the patience for this right now. "Cody flies like a suicidal maniac," he said shortly. "You're even worse."

To his mild surprise, Vos grinned wolfishly. "I wonder if Obi-Wan's ever been flown somewhere by his commander."

 _. . . What does that have to do with_ anything?

Tech cut in. "If you mean General Kenobi, probably not. The Jedi each have a Delta-7 starfighter, much like yours. Under normal circumstances, Jedi generals fly themselves; on occasion, however, they ride in troop transports, for which they already have assigned pilots."

Hunter sighed. "Yeah, Tech. He probably knows that."

Vos, who didn't seem to be listening to Tech at all, appeared pleased. "I'm gonna have to remember that phrase for next time I run into Obi-Wan or Cody."

Hunter looked at him slowly. ". . . What phrase?"

"Suicidal maniac." Vos rocked back on his heels. "Is he really a crazy pilot?"

Wrecker laughed. "Like you wouldn't believe!"

"Actually, I'd believe it," Vos said, wandering after them as they headed for the _Havoc Marauder._ "I mean, everyone always thinks that Obi-Wan's the perfect, sensible Jedi, but I can swear to the fact that he has come up with _the_ dumbest, craziest plans. And Cody seems really by-the-book, but I've heard a couple of stories. . ."

Hunter wondered if any of the stories he'd heard had to do with the Bad Batch's first mission. If so, Vos was fully justified in believing them.

"In the meantime," the Jedi continued, clapping his hands together. "I hope you don't mind my coming onboard, because I just remembered that Tech stole my ship."

Tech blinked twice. "I did _not_ steal it. As a matter of fact, you specifically asked me to –"

"Guys," Hunter interjected.

Vos and Tech both turned innocently injured looks on him before walking towards the ship. Hunter rubbed at the sides of his head. "Bad Batch. Post-mission briefing. Get onboard. You too, Vos."

Vos was already onboard, but he poked his head back out. "Say what?" he asked blankly, then disappeared.

Crosshair frowned and inserted a toothpick between his lips, casting a sideways glance at Hunter.

Hunter blinked tiredly at him. "Let's just . . . yeah. Post-mission briefing."

They headed for the cargo bay again. It wasn't particularly large, but they ended up using it as their living space, most of the time.

Tech sat on a crate while Wrecker stood behind it, leaning his weight against one side. Crosshair went to his favorite position – a tall supply crate in one corner where he could have his back to the wall and still be higher up – and Hunter stood midway between them, arms folded.

Vos was nowhere to be seen. Of course not.

"Tech. Where's Vos?"

"He is in the cockpit," Tech replied, carefully removing his helmet. He had the start of what would be a significant bruise on one side of his forehead and cheekbone.

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "You want to start massaging that before it swells up so bad you can't get your helmet back on?"

Tech rolled his eyes, but set to work all the same, pressing two fingers against his face. Hunter's head was still aching, but when he touched it there was no blood, so he figured it was fine for now. Wrecker looked okay. And Crosshair . . .had been shot.

Hunter looked at him, waiting patiently.

Crosshair did not move.

Wrecker glanced between them a couple of times before deciding to step in. "Hey, CROSSHAIR!"

The sniper gazed coldly at him. "What."

"You're ignoring Hunter again."

With reluctance dripping from every movement, Crosshair removed his med pack from his belt, took out a piece of cloth, and pressed it against the area between his shoulder and neck, just inside the edge of his armor. "It's only a scratch."

Outwardly, Hunter rolled his eyes at the completely ineffective method of treatment, but inwardly he felt icy. That had been very, _very_ close. A sniper bolt through the neck could kill as surely as one through the head. And he hadn't realized at first that Crosshair had been shot. The sniper hadn't reacted at the time.

Of course, it wasn't like this kind of thing hadn't happened before. Hunter let out his breath slowly and wondered whether he should question Wrecker as to whether or not _he_ was injured. No, probably not. Wrecker had his own faults, but he was unerringly honest and forward. The other two weren't _dis_ honest, exactly, but neither did they bother to report things that Hunter, as team leader, was technically supposed to know.

Tech had been less obvious about this particular failing at first, but as time went on, Hunter had slowly begun to realize that he was every bit as sneaky as Crosshair. Tech just happened to be more friendly and communicative, so that no one ever suspected he was hiding things.

Of course, once Hunter realized that Tech liked to use random and useless pieces of information to distract him, it had more or less lost its usefulness as a diversionary tactic.

It was strange, but the faults and failings of each member of the Bad Batch, including himself, had seemed to become more prominent once they were actually in the field. He couldn't remember that he'd ever really worried about his team while on Kamino.

Well, apart from the time he'd caught Wrecker testing explosives in the bunker; the time he'd found Crosshair attempting to climb to the top of Tipoca City _from the outside;_ the time Tech had given himself an electric shock by getting hyper-focused on one section of the computer he was fixing and forgetting about the power backup; the time Tech and Wrecker had gotten trapped in that collapsed corridor on their training mission; the time during that same mission where Crosshair had started to call in and then been cut off, and had failed to report in for three hours because his comlink had been smashed by a super battle droid during the attack . . .

Hunter raised a mental eyebrow. On second thought, never mind. He'd had ample cause to worry. It had just been more sporadic, and in at least partially controlled environments. Now, though, he knew that they were without backup and without real help if something were to go truly wrong.

Hunter had always treated his training very seriously, acting as though each mission and exercise was as important as though it had been real . . . but somehow, being in the field just didn't compare.

Quinlan Vos came into the room, face cleared of the grease he'd used to disguise his tattoos, and tossed a clean rag to Hunter. "You wanna take that off before it becomes permanent?"

Hunter eyed him for a moment, but took the cloth. "Thanks."

"No problem." He flicked a strand of hair from his eyes. "You guys are all set, I guess?"

Tech looked up. "That would depend on what you mean by 'all set'. If you mean that we are relatively uninjured, then yes. If you mean that we are prepared to undertake the rest of this mission on our own, I disagree."

Wrecker chucked his helmet across the room in the general direction of the storage rack. "Aw, Tech, we can handle it!"

"Yes, well," Tech retorted. "We didn't exactly handle the last segment of the mission particularly well."

Hunter rubbed the cloth gingerly against his forehead, trying to avoid the worst area of his headache. "What do you mean?"

Tech glanced at him. "We were caught off-guard by Aurra Sing. You would have been killed by Grakkus if Quinlan Vos hadn't stepped in."

Hunter reconsidered what he'd been thinking about honesty and who was more forthright. He didn't think that Tech really needed to say what he just had . . . though he was right.

Before he could answer, Crosshair cut in. "Hunter wouldn't have been in danger if we'd gone back to the ship in the first place."

"Fair point," said the Jedi, casually studying his fingernails. "Which is why I wanted to go down by myself."

Hunter folded his arms. "I decided to go down there, Vos, because I _didn't_ want you going there by yourself."

"Yep." Quinlan put his hands on the crate behind himself and hopped onto it to sit cross-legged. "But you wouldn't have decided to do that if I'd gone back to the ship in the first place . . ."

"I just said that," said Crosshair.

Quinlan wandered to the weapons locker to examine a blaster clip. "Yeah, but if I'd gone back right away and returned to the tunnel later –"

That proved that Hunter had been right about Vos wanting to sneak away from the ship later. But Hunter wasn't sure what exactly the Jedi was trying to say. . . Vos certainly wasn't agreeing with Hunter. Maybe the Jedi thought he should have been more careful about disguising his intentions?

Tech cocked his head to one side, then to the other, as though he were a bird examining some bit of food. "The point is, we ran into trouble that we might not have been able to handle on our own."

Vos gave him a curious look. "Yeah. And my point is, I didn't expect Grakkus or Aurra to be down there. I should've been more careful, but if I'd been alone, it would have been easy enough to escape. As it was, two of you nearly got killed during a confrontation I could have dealt with myself."

"Hm." Hunter set the rag aside. "You seem to think that you should be handling most of this mission alone."

"That's how I operate."

Tech turned to face him. "ARC troopers are as skilled as commandos. However, they work alone, and commando squads are nearly always more effective."

"True," admitted Quinlan. "But there's a reason Jedi investigators don't have teams . . . And this mission isn't going to be like anything you're used to dealing with."

Wrecker frowned. "Well, it doesn't matter, because we've been assigned to work with you. Right?"

"I guess." Vos slid off the crate suddenly, as though tossing the topic of conversation aside. "Here, let me get that artifact."

Tech removed it from his pack, and Hunter regarded it for moment. The black urn had a sealed top and was decorated with deep red, nearly black, symbols.

"This language isn't in my database," Tech said. "What is it?"

"The language of the Sith," replied Quinlan, glancing suddenly away from the symbols. "Tech, give it to me. That thing is full of dark energy."

"What kind of dark energy?" Tech asked, passing it to the Jedi. "Does this particular urn contain the ashes of a Sith lord? Do you know which one?"

"Dark _side_ energy." Vos set the urn on the crate and rubbed his hands against his tunic. "Yes, it contains ashes; no, I don't know who from . . . Not sure I want to."

"How do you destroy it?" Wrecker asked.

"Just like anything else."

Hunter moved closer. "Why did we bring it with us, then?"

"Um." Vos squinted at the ceiling for a moment, as though trying to come up with an answer. "How to put this. . ."

"It affects you," Crosshair said abruptly.

Vos gave him a sarcastic look. "Yeah, how could you tell."

"When it gets destroyed," clarified Crosshair.

"Yeah," said Quinlan again, then focused sharply on him. "Wait, how could you tell?"

Crosshair switched his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other and didn't answer.

Hunter moved closer to the urn, looking thoughtfully at it. "Dark side energy . . . So you must be able to feel it."

Vos gave him a falsely casual smirk. "Like you with the droids."

"I see!" said Tech suddenly. "Theoretically, when Hunter is too close to a sudden, intense frequency, such as a sudden release of high energy, it will affect him negatively."

Hunter narrowed his eyes. "You're saying that destroying this urn will cause a release of dark side energy?"

"Yep," said the Jedi. "Which I really hate. But there's nothing for it, so . . . I guess I'll just take this outside and –"

His comm beeped twice. He stared down at it for a moment. "Huh. It's Vythia."

"Wait!" Tech ordered. "Don't answer that – she'll be able to track your location. Give me a moment to disguise the signal."

He rushed into the cockpit. As usual, Hunter thought, Tech's mind was far ahead of everyone else's.

The comm beeped again, and Vos eyed it. "How long will it take to –"

"All set!" Tech popped back into the room. "I overlaid your comm's identification code with that of your starfighter's comm."

Vos answered the call. "Quinlan Vos here."

 _"This is Vythia Archane,"_ said a female with an unusual accent.

"Hey, I was wondering when you'd contact me again. You have that job ready yet?"

She laughed. _"I take it you're tired of waiting around."_

"Yeah, kind of."

Hunter rolled his eyes. Some 'waiting around' they'd been doing. . .

_"Then you'll be glad to know that my agent just reported something very interesting."_

Quinlan's expression didn't change, but Hunter noticed that his fingers went towards his lightsaber – or, at least, the lightsaber he'd grabbed from Grakkus' hoard.

_"A small team of bounty hunters has just completed a successful raid on Grakkus the Hutt's palace."_

All the commandos were focused on Quinlan's comm by now, and the Jedi's hand closed tightly around it for a moment.

 _"They must be skilled to have gotten in and out without losing anyone,"_ Vythia went on. _"There were four, each with a unique appearance, but all human."_

"Unusual." Vos raised an eyebrow, as though truly intrigued by her words. "You want them watched?"

_"No. I want you to talk to them. Find out what they're like. See if they would be interested in the job I hired you for."_

"I'll need information on their whereabouts," the Jedi said, leaning over to snatch Tech's datapad. He glanced down at the map for a moment. "My ship's only an hour or so away from your warehouse."

_"No need for you to come here. Head to Hutta Town. The last report has their ship at the airfield. Landing platform nine."_

Vos tossed the datapad back to Tech and gestured. "Okay, but I hope I get there before they leave."

Tech started typing, and Hunter leaned over to see that he was re-calculating the starfighter's flight plan, sending it back towards the airfield.

 _"Even if you don't, you'll find them easily enough,"_ Vythia said. _"While they were gone from their ship, I had two tracking devices attached to it. I will send you that data."_

"Okay. What should I offer them, in terms of – terms?"

She sounded amused when she answered. _"I always speak directly with those whose skills intrigue me. Your task is to see if they are interested in work; and, if so, to bring them to the warehouse. Nothing else."_

"Right. I'll get back to you on that, then."

_"Very well. I'll be waiting."_

The comm clicked.

Vos lowered his arm and gazed blankly between the urn and the commandos.

Tech looked up, his fingers hovering over the keypad. "It will be a few hours, but your ship is on its way here."

"Good." Vos paced to the door, turned, and raised an eyebrow at Hunter. "Vythia didn't say anything about the urn . . ."

"You think she knows about it?"

"Well, if she does, she probably also knows I'm with you guys . . . which means we're already sunk. But if that were the case, she wouldn't send me to hire you; so, no, I don't think she knows. At least not yet." He frowned. "She might still find out, if this agent of hers watched us while we were in the tunnel area."

"So what's the plan?" Hunter asked.

"We'll work on finding whoever was watching you."

"And the artifact?" Hunter wasn't sure whether dark side energy, whatever it was, could affect his team. Either way, he didn't want it lying around.

Vos visibly hesitated. "I – don't know."

"Can't you just smash it?" Wrecker asked.

"Well, yeah, but . . ."

Tech gestured with his datapad. "One of us could destroy it instead."

"No. If we destroy it, I'm taking care of it." Vos stretched backwards suddenly, put his hands on the ground, and flipped over to land back on his feet. "Ow . . . Grakkus and his stupid droid."

Hunter wasn't sure how acrobatics were supposed to help severe bruises, but he said nothing.

Crosshair slid off the crate and leaned his rifle against the wall. "What's the point of waiting?"

"To destroy it, you mean?" The Jedi rested his hands on his waist. "For one thing, if Vythia does manage to find out you guys took the spirit urn, she's going to want it."

"Because it's an artifact?" Wrecker asked, squinting one eye. "I dunno, it doesn't look like much."

"Appearances can be deceiving," replied Quinlan, casting a dark look at the urn. "In fact, they usually are."

Hunter looked up, his attention caught by the odd statement, but Vos was already on to the next thing.

"Hunter," he said. "If you were raiding some place for Jedi artifacts and came across an urn like that, what would you do? Take it or leave it?"

". . . I'd probably leave it," Hunter said slowly. "It doesn't seem like the kind of thing I'd want around, even if I didn't know what it was."

"And if you grabbed a bunch of artifacts, escaped, and then found that one of them was a spirit urn?"

Hunter glanced at Tech, who looked as confused as Hunter felt. "I'd get rid of it."

"Good. Then we can probably get away with destroying this thing."

Hunter blinked. _Okay, enough with the vague comments._ As Quinlan moved toward the urn, Hunter caught his elbow. "First explain that."

"What?" Quinlan looked around at the others, apparently recognizing the confusion in their eyes. "Oh . . . Sorry. Look, you guys are playing a part, right?"

"If you mean we're pretending to be bounty hunters, then yes," said Hunter, releasing his arm. "But what does that have to do with whether _you_ destroy the artifact or not?"

The Jedi raised his eyebrows. "Everything."

Tech, still holding a hand against his rapidly darkening bruise, eyed him. "That rather cryptic statement might make sense to you, but it isn't making sense to us."

Quinlan Vos folded his arms, squinted at the ceiling for a moment, and said, "Okay, let me see if I can explain this. We're working on a kind of double-layered mission. I'm here for one reason, you guys are here to help me, but obviously we can't let Vythia know that, because she thinks we're all here for a _different_ reason. To keep ourselves above suspicion, we need to keep our stories straight and above-board. So all the details need to check out."

 _Not helping,_ thought Hunter, catching Wrecker's bewildered look.

Vos went on. "Vythia Archane needs to be able to believe us. She needs to think that I'm who I claim to be, and that you are who _you_ claim to be. But she's not stupid. If we forget a detail, she might very well tear our whole story apart. Remember, you guys aren't supposed to know me yet."

"I see," said Hunter. "So what you're saying is we need to have an explanation ready as to why _we_ would destroy the artifact, just in case she finds out that we had it."

"Right. See, Vythia's after Sith artifacts – because of the Prince – and she's hired me to help her gain them. If I found a Sith artifact and then destroyed it, she'd have real cause to be suspicious. Especially since she thinks I'm not Force-sensitive."

Hunter mulled this over for a moment. "If that's the case, then why does she know your real name?"

"Because I told it to her. She believes that I've given her a fake name, and all she knows for real is that I'm psychometric, a Kiffar, and have no known record."

"Still," Hunter said. "It's possible that she'll try to gain intel on a Quinlan Vos."

"Yeah, but she won't get anywhere. Vos is a clan name, and many members of each clan share the same tattoos. And I don't _have_ personal records available."

Hunter glanced at Tech again. "Vos, we read the reports from a couple of your previous missions."

"I don't have records outside the Temple." The Jedi straightened, eyeing Tech thoughtfully. "You got into the Archives?"

"I requested the information," replied Tech.

"Yeah, but how'd you even get into the Temple's system? With a military code? That place is high-clearance. . . Wait. If you've still got that intel, we could be in danger."

Tech was unfazed. "I spoke with Commander Cody. He communicated my request to General Kenobi, who allowed him access to the Library records. A Jedi Master there compiled a few pertinent reports and sent them to Cody. He had them encrypted and sent to me. I've already removed all traces of their existence from our systems."

"You deleted them?"

Tech looked insulted. "Files can be recovered after simply being 'deleted'. I removed the memory chip from the datapad, crushed it, and replaced it with a previous chip so that no one would have reason to suspect that anything was being hidden. All traces of our military communications log have been removed from the system. I've recoded our ship's comm and our ID. The Kaminoans wouldn't be able to recognize the _Marauder_ now, at least not unless they saw it physically."

For some reason, Vos looked impressed. "You know how to cover your tracks."

"Of course. We were trained for infiltration."

Crosshair flicked his toothpick away and moved closer. "Infiltration, yes. But not the kind we're trying to pull off now."

"No," Hunter agreed, his mind running over everything he'd just heard. "So – we were raiding Grakkus' place because we'd heard that he kept Jedi artifacts. . . Where'd we hear that?"

"Luckily, that part almost doesn't matter." Vos grinned. "It's kind of an open secret and has been for a while. You were on Nal Hutta – Vythia will probably be able to establish that pretty quickly."

"And we stopped by Nar Shaddaa because we figured it was a good place to pick up some work," Hunter said.

"Yeah, same as me. We'll 'meet' for the first time when my ship lands here. And you're still on landing platform nine because . . ."

Wrecker looked up from where he'd been fidgeting with his rifle. "Because we have to fix the landing gear."

"Yes, we do," said Tech, giving Hunter a narrow-eyed look. "Because _Hunter_ decided to pull out the wires our first time at the palace."

Hunter smiled blandly. "Well, Vythia won't need to know about that part."

"Uh-huh." Quinlan thought for a moment. "Just say your ship needed repairs. So, you robbed Grakkus' place, got chased by him, took a wrong turn –"

"We have never taken a wrong turn before," said Tech.

"Well, you did this time. You were being followed, so you panicked."

Crosshair shifted. "We've never _panicked,_ either."

"Whatever." Vos turned back to the urn. "Don't forget, this is only for if she asks about the artifact. If we weren't spied on up to that point, then she knows only that you robbed Grakkus' place successfully."

Wrecker tossed the gun aside. "Wait a second. Why doesn't she know that _you_ were there?"

"Probably because no one actually _saw_ the infiltration, which means that someone tracked you . . . remotely . . ." Vos broke off as Tech rushed into the cockpit.

There was a moment of clicking, the slam of a metal cover, and Tech hurried back in, peering at a scanner. "Whoever tracked us must have done so only recently. He probably saw us as we were leaving for the palace. Since Quinlan Vos left the ship so much earlier than we did, the agent has no reason to know that there were more than four of us. But I'm not locating any physical tracking beacons on our armor."

"Good to know." Hunter immediately powered down his comm and handed it to Tech. "I assume that this agent somehow managed to remotely tag one of our comm signals."

"It seems likely." Tech set aside his scanner and plugged the comlink into his datapad. "Crosshair, Wrecker, give me yours. I'll reprogram them all right now."

They complied quickly.

Quinlan watched them with a thoughtful frown. "The question is, where is this agent now? And did he see me enter your ship?"

Hunter hummed. "I'd be surprised if he didn't, the way you were flying that airbus."

The Jedi rolled his eyes skyward. "It wasn't that bad."

Crosshair sniffed. "It _was_ that bad."

Everyone paused for a moment while Tech continued to tinker with the coding.

"Anyway," Vos went on. "He hadn't reported to Vythia about it, so I think we can presume he didn't actually _see_ us return. Can you trace that signal to locate him?"

"No, I've already tried." Tech looked curiously at the comlink in his hand. "He tagged yours, Hunter."

"He probably figured out you were the leader." Vos sat down on a crate. "Your cutting off his tracking abilities should help, Tech. He'll have to come here to figure out what you're going to do next."

"Not if he still has the beacons on the ship," Crosshair said.

"Yeah, let's not take that chance." Vos pulled out his own datapad and showed it to Tech. "Here's the frequency."

"Hm. One moment. . . Ah. I found them. Both are on the outside of the ship."

"Good," said Hunter. "Tech, you take care of that. Wrecker, you remember where you got that airbus?"

"Yeah."

"Return it and get back here. I don't want that vehicle being traced back to the owner. _He_ might remember Vos."

"Sure thing, Sarge!" Wrecker grabbed his helmet, jammed it over his head, and headed for the door.

"Wrecker," said Hunter. "Remember not to use my rank."

"Oh," Wrecker said guiltily. "Sorry about that."

Hunter nodded to him, and Wrecker hurried down the stairs to the landing pad.

"Crosshair," Hunter went on. "You and I are going to keep an eye out for this agent and Vos . . . you should stay put."

"Actually," said Vos cheerfully. "I'm going to 'keep an eye out' too."

"If you're seen –"

"I won't be, trust me. I have an uncomfortable feeling that this agent and I have met before. In fact . . . you guys were probably busy tracking him yesterday."

Crosshair, halfway to the door, stilled abruptly. "You think it's _Bane?"_

"It's got his fingerprints all over it." Quinlan looked thoughtful for a moment. "Though I don't actually know whether Duros have fingerprints."

"They don't," Tech replied without looking up.

"Oh. Well, I'm pretty sure it's him. We know Bane's working for the Prince, who's mortal enemies with Grakkus, so the Prince has got every reason to keep an eye on bounty hunters who visit Hutta Town."

Hunter slid his helmet carefully over his head, wincing. "Well, it wasn't like we needed any further complications on this mission."

Vos smirked. "Actually, if something didn't go wrong, I'd start to get worried, so . . ."

Hunter left the ship. "Nearly getting flattened by a two-ton Hutt didn't count as something going wrong?"

"No, because we didn't _get_ flattened. Just – almost."

Crosshair cleared the stairs in one jump and edged around towards the front of the ship. "All clear on this side."

"For now." Tech unlatched and opened the cover for the fuel intake valve. "Once I disable these beacons, that won't last long."

Hunter double-checked his comms. "Wrecker, can you hear me?"

_"Yeah."_

"What's your status?"

_"Airbus is returned and I'm on my way back."_

"Good. Watch yourself." Hunter walked to the back of the ship, watching the lanes of traffic and the surrounding buildings for anything unusual. After a moment, he moved to the edge of the platform, casting a quick glance down. They were high enough up that an attack from below seemed unlikely, but it was always better to be safe.

"Beacons disabled," Tech said from behind him.

"Great." Hunter watched as Tech calmly set down the two beacons, drew both pistols, and shot them. "Not taking any chances, Tech?"

Tech replaced his pistols with a faint smile. "Not with this, at any rate."

Hunter's helmet clicked faintly and Quinlan's voice came through. _"Hey, guys? I was right about Bane."_

"He's here?"

_"He's standing on the next platform over. I'd recognize that hat anywhere."_

Hunter looked at Tech and tilted his head towards the front of the ship. "Let's go, but keep it careful."

Tech nodded firmly and hurried toward the left, while Hunter took the right and joined Crosshair. Across a the wide airlane, on the nearest platform, the Duros stood, leaning against a speeder with arms folded, his head tilted down. Behind him was a starfighter of an unfamiliar model.

"Want me to shoot him?" Crosshair asked.

"Not yet. He's just keeping an eye on us . . . So far. Vos, where are you?"

His voice came from so close by that Hunter nearly jumped. "Under the ship, keeping out of sight."

". . . Good. Wrecker?"

_"Yeah?"_

"Cad Bane is on the platform directly across from our ship. Be careful."

_"I'm a couple minutes away."_

Cad Bane lifted his head and adjusted his wide-brimmed hat. His red eyes were clearly visible as he looked directly at Hunter.

"He knows we've seen him," Hunter reported calmly.

"Nuts." The Jedi's voice was a bit muffled. "What's he doing?"

"Standing near his ship. Maybe he's waiting to see what we'll do."

"Try scaring him."

Crosshair hefted his rifle with one arm, aiming directly at Bane.

The Duros smirked, lifted his comm, and said something.

There was the faint sound of a jetpack from behind them. "Hunter," said Tech. "A small droid just –"

A little droid with a large head whizzed over the ship. "Please lower your weapon."

Crosshair glanced up briefly before disregarding it. "Or what."

The droid hovered in mid-air, gesturing with tiny arms. "Cad Bane has no wish to harm you. But neither does he wish to be shot through the head."

Hunter drew his knife. "Then he should stop following us."

Bane sauntered to the edge of the platform, activated the jetpacks in his boots, and flew across. Crosshair cast a quick look at Hunter, who shook his head once.

Cad Bane landed easily and rested a hand on one pistol. He considered them for a long moment before removing a toothpick from his mouth. Hunter couldn't help a faint smirk. _Guess Crosshair's not the only one . . ._

Bane spoke in a guttural voice. "You found my tracking beacons. I'm impressed."

"Get lost," Hunter said. "Our being here has nothing to do with you, Bane."

"Oh, you know who I am."

"Yeah," said Hunter, gesturing with his knife. "And if you've got business with us, you'd better tell us now. We don't take kindly to being spied on."

"Don't know anyone who does." Bane's red eyes narrowed as he observed the platform from one end to the other. "Missing someone, aren't you?"

"What's it to you?" Hunter shifted his weight, dropping into a crouch, and readied his knife for a throw. "Now get out of here before I pin that hat to your skull."

Bane adjusted his hat and looked at the droid. "Not very friendly, are they, Todo?"

"I should say not."

Hunter eyed the droid. "Cross, get ready to shoot that thing."

Bane chuckled. "No worries. We're leaving. Just don't be surprised if you see us around."

He moved to the edge of the platform, then spun suddenly. "Now, Todo!"

Something clinked to the ground just in front of the ship. Hunter and Crosshair dove in opposite directions, but it was too late.

The grenade exploded. Hunter barely had time to realize that his head felt as though it had split open when his muscles seized. A rush of blackness overpowered him, and he dropped to the duracrete.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting longer and longer . . . I'm not sure what to think of that. ;P
> 
> Now, a question for you guys: I'd originally planned to keep the story only in Hunter's and Quinlan's points of view. Would you be interested in seeing it from more points of view? Specifically, I'm thinking Vythia, Tech, and possibly Crosshair. . . though I'd still mostly be writing either Quinlan or Hunter. :)


	12. Concealing Evidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update, because it's Thanksgiving and all. . . :) Have a lovely day!

* * *

Quinlan, lying on the ground beneath the _Havoc Marauder,_ listened carefully as Hunter conversed with Cad Bane. He didn't dare interfere at this point – there was no way Bane wouldn't recognize him. The fact that the bounty hunter was in Hutta Town was a cause for concern. . .

And that stupid little droid was here – the one that had so calmly snatched his lightsaber back on Nal Hutta. He had a score to settle with Todo, that was for sure.

He shook his head and tuned back into the conversation just as Hunter spoke in a threatening voice. "We don't take kindly to being spied on."

"Don't know anyone who does," Bane muttered. "Missing someone, aren't you?"

Vos rose to one knee, ready to lunge out from beneath the center of the ship, before realizing that Bane was referring to Wrecker.

"What's it to you?" Hunter retorted, and Quinlan heard him shift his weight. "Now get out of here before I pin that hat to your skull."

"Not very friendly, are they, Todo?" Bane asked.

The droid replied in a half-surprised voice. "I should say not."

A feeling of a threat was building in the Force, but Quinlan couldn't tell whether it was from Bane or from Hunter, who said, "Cross, get ready to shoot that thing."

Cad Bane chuckled briefly. "No worries. We're leaving. Just don't be surprised if you see us around."

 _Just my luck. I'm going to have to avoid him the whole mission, aren't I?_ Quinlan crawled a couple of feet towards them, using his elbows to keep from smacking his head against the ship.

Bane spoke again. "Now, Todo!"

Something clinked against the ground, and Quinlan dropped flat and rolled away.

The grenade went off, sending a shockwave of gold-blue electricity streaking across the platform. Vos winced internally when it caught Hunter and Crosshair. _Ow, that had to have hurt._

Someone bumped against his elbow, and he twisted around awkwardly. Tech, lying flat on his stomach with one pistol drawn, cast him a sideways look and whispered, "I think he wants to search the ship."

"I think you're right," Quinlan muttered back. "Somehow, we've got to stop him before he finds the urn."

"Yes." Tech propped himself up on his elbows. "I'll distract him while you get the artifact."

Quinlan shook his head, trying to keep Bane in sight as the Duros paced slowly around the edge of the platform. "First contact Wrecker."

Tech set down his pistol and tapped on his comm. "Wrecker, come in. Cad Bane just took out Hunter and Crosshair with an electromagnetic pulse grenade."

 _"Hunter? Oh, that's bad!"_ Despite sounding angry, Wrecker managed to keep his voice down.

Quinlan leaned closer to Tech. "Wrecker, I need you to distract him before he boards the _Marauder._ Can you do that?"

 _"I'll do more than that!"_ Wrecker shouted, and Tech hastily covered the speaker with one hand. _"I'm on the lift already."_

Quinlan looked at Tech. "What lift?"

"The one that leads to this platform, I presume." Tech snatched up his pistol and crawled forward. Quinlan grabbed at his ankle to stop him.

Tech looked back, disgruntled. "Bane will find you if I don't move. He knows I'm around somewhere."

"He's behind the ship now," Quinlan admitted, releasing him. "Just – watch it."

Tech scrambled out and ran for the stairs.

"Oh!" yelled the little droid. "There he is!"

Vos gritted his teeth, waiting as Bane rushed back around the ship, then rolled out on the opposite side and sprang to his feet.

The door of the ship hissed shut, and Quinlan's comlink blinked twice. He held one hand over the speaker to deaden the sound as he jumped to the top of the ship and lay flat. "Tech?"

 _"I'm inside, and Bane isn't,"_ reported the commando breathlessly. _"It was somewhat close, though. I've sealed the door."_

"Good," Quinlan answered quietly. "Get that artifact hidden."

_"I'm on it."_

Quinlan watched the droid hovering around the platform, its rectangular head turning this way and that. If it looked up – or flew higher . . .

But it didn't.

Cad Bane strolled past, only the edge of his hat visible from Quinlan's position, and stared at the doorway for a moment. "Todo, get us inside."

With a sigh quite unusual for a droid, Todo hovered over to the doorway and vanished from sight. "What is so special about this ship? Why don't you just blow it up?"

"Don't be silly." Bane constantly sounded as though he were swallowing his own words as he spoke. "We're here to see what they got from Grakkus, nothing else. Keep an eye out for the big one. He could be a problem."

The droid huffed. "How can I possibly 'keep an eye out' and get through this door at the same time? Sometimes you seem to think that I can do everything."

"Yeah," drawled Bane. "Everything except shut up."

"Well! Really!"

The sound of a laser cutter drowned out Todo's grumbling, and Quinlan rose cautiously to one knee, judging the distance. Maybe he could knock Bane out without being seen, and maybe he couldn't. But if Bane got inside . . . _Hurry up, Wrecker._

A faint scraping of plastoid on duracrete sounded in front of him as one of the fallen commandos shifted, but he couldn't tell whether either of them was conscious.

"I'm nearly through," the droid remarked.

"About time, too." Cad Bane said.

Quinlan dropped back to his stomach and pressed his comm five times. He had no idea if Tech would interpret that as a danger signal or not, but he didn't dare risk speaking right now.

"Bane!" yelled a gruff voice, and Wrecker appeared at the far end of the landing platform. He must have seen Vos, but gave no sign. _One point for Wrecker._

Cad Bane moved away from the ship, unholstering one pistol. "I wondered where you'd got to. Just stay still, and no one gets hurt."

Wrecker clipped his gun back to his belt and folded his arms.

Quinlan watched, carefully edging backwards as Bane moved forwards. _What's he doing. . .?_

The droid hovered over to join the Duros. "The door is now open."

"Good. I'll watch this guy while you search the ship."

"But – I can't! The other bounty hunter is still inside!"

"Shut up, Todo. I'm running this operation."

Todo hovered back to the ship, somehow managing to put his robotic nose in the air. "No need to remind me of _that_."

Quinlan heard the door spring open.

 _Okay, Vos,_ he thought, grabbing his pistol. _I think it's time to risk the consequences of being seen. . ._

"Hurry it up, Todo," Bane ordered.

Wrecker still hadn't moved – he seemed to be waiting for something.

Tech jumped through the open door and landed on the platform in a safety roll that brought him up behind Bane. His eyes were narrowed behind his goggles as he ran sideways, firing shot after shot.

Wrecker charged.

Cad Bane jumped aside and soared into the air, his pistols releasing a steady volley of stun rounds. Two shots struck Wrecker, but he shrugged them off.

Quinlan rolled off the roof of the ship, landing on the opposite side. This game of hide-and-seek was getting old _really_ fast. He peered around the edge, ready to intervene whenever necessary.

As Wrecker made another grab for Bane, Tech spun suddenly and ran back towards the ship. He caught Quinlan's gaze, ducked around the side of the ship, and reached into his pack. "I've got it here," he said hastily.

Vos grabbed the artifact and glanced around. The lightsabers were still in Hunter's pack, and for now . . . well, one of the commandos' packs would be the safest place to keep this. Unless Bane decided to search them. He probably would, if he got the chance.

"Todo, get out here!" yelled Bane.

Tech rushed back into the fight and attacked Bane. Wrecker stepped back toward the boarding ramp.

Quinlan was quite pleased when he heard a sudden _clang_ of metal against metal _._ It sounded like Todo had gotten himself smacked into the side of the ship.

Quinlan dropped to his hands and knees, slipped beneath the ship, and crawled towards Hunter and Crosshair. _Time to get those lightsabers out of Bane's reach._

Crosshair was closest, so Quinlan, keeping half his attention on the battle, grabbed the sniper's arm and shook him. "Crosshair, I kind of need some help here. Wake up. Hey, you alive or what?"

He glanced at Hunter, who was motionless. Bane's grenade must have been pretty powerful to take the two commandos down like that.

Wrecker seemed to tire of shooting at Bane, because he switched his rifle attachment and sent heavy lasers streaking at Bane's ship.

Crosshair shifted, and Quinlan pulled his attention back to the commando. The annoying stream of words worked every time, though Obi-Wan declaimed it as immature.

Quinlan smirked and continued. "Hey, Crosshair. If you wake up, I promise I won't slice your sniper rifle in half. Or shoot it. . .or kick it over the edge of the platform. . ." _Okay, yeah, that's getting kind of lame._

"Change of plans, Todo," barked Cad Bane, from somewhere to the right. "Forget about the stun lasers."

Todo landed next to Wrecker. At first Quinlan thought that the droid had an overloaded servo or something, because white mist was trickling out from his neck. Too late, he realized that it was actually a powerful knockout gas.

Wrecker dropped to his knees, looking dizzily around. Tech, who was some distance away, collapsed suddenly. That stuff must be more powerful than your average knockout grenade. . .

But Crosshair was closer to Wrecker than Tech was, and he seemed to be more awake than before. Quinlan himself was a little dizzy, but nowhere near being knocked unconscious . . . It didn't add up, but for the moment, Quinlan knew that the best way to get rid of Bane was to let him finish his mission. Particularly since there was nothing for him to find on the ship anymore.

Wrecker fell flat, and Todo said, "Finally!"

Crosshair lifted his head, and Quinlan grabbed his wrist. "Quiet . . ." he whispered under his breath, hoping that Bane wouldn't hear. "Don't move yet."

Todo was talking again. "I certainly hope that your getting onboard was worth all this trouble. It would have been much simpler to shoot them."

"Quiet," muttered Bane. "We were sent here to search their ship, not kill them. Now get back to my ship. Move it to the apartment and wait there."

"I'm not your pilot," huffed the droid, but he floated back to the opposite platform all the same.

Bane's footsteps sounded on the boarding ramp and faded inside.

Crosshair got stiffly to his knees.

Quinlan crawled out to join him. "Everyone's okay, just unconscious. Quick, give me Hunter's pack. We can't let Bane find the lightsabers."

Crosshair obeyed silently, scanning the platform as he did so. "What now?"

"We hope he leaves without causing grief," said Quinlan as Bane's fighter took off, turned away from them, and disappeared. He grabbed the lightsabers from Hunter's pack, balancing them precariously in the crook of one arm.

Crosshair pulled a pistol from his belt. "I could just disable those jetpacks of his while he's midflight."

"No." Quinlan's focus was on Bane's presence inside the ship. He was moving around, coming slowly back towards the entrance. "He's not a threat to us right now. Just play dead until he leaves. But first put Hunter's pack back."

Crosshair complied. "Pretend to be unconscious while Bane still has weapons?"

"Uh . . . basically."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

 _Yeah, me too._ Quinlan waited until Crosshair was back to his previous position, then ran around the back of the ship just as Bane exited the front.

The Duros was speaking into his comm. "I'll check their packs, but then I'm getting out of here. . . Yeah, I know, but you can ask them when you talk to them yourself."

Quinlan raised an eyebrow and set down the artifact and the lightsabers, careful not clatter them against the duracrete. _I've got the strangest feeling that he's talking to Vythia._

Bane continued to talk. "The leader's got nothing. One minute . . . the sniper's got nothing."

Quinlan held his breath so as to listen better, straining to hear the voice on the other end of the comm. All he could hear was a very faint murmur, but the voice was definitely female.

"Big guy's clear . . . So's the little one. Guess their raid on Grakkus' place wasn't so successful after all."

The faint voice murmured something, and Bane replied. "All right, fine. I'm headed back now."

A soft _click_ announced the end of his call. Quinlan held his breath and crawled slowly back around to the front.

Bane paused at the edge of the platform for a moment, then shut off his comm, activated his jetpacks, and soared across the gap between the two platforms. He mounted his speeder, still turned away from the _Havoc Marauder._ Quinlan was just about to release his breath when, to his shock, Tech sprang up and ran towards Bane.

 _Okay, guess he was faking it,_ Quinlan thought, activating his comm. "I seriously hope you're not planning to jump across that gap."

Tech dropped flat, grabbed the edge of the platform, swung around, and hung by his elbows and one knee over the hundred-meter drop.

Bane's speeder roared to life.

Quinlan checked that his comlink was transmitting, then settled for shouting after him instead. "Tech! What are you doing?"

Tech looked up and yelled, "You take care of the others! I'm going after Bane!"

"He's on a speeder," Crosshair snapped. "How can you?"

"How else?" Tech called, swinging down out of sight. "On _another_ speeder!"

Quinlan grimaced as he remembered the speeder he'd parked on the landing pad's support. _Oh, seriously . . . ? Dang._

Bane, still facing away from them, gunned his speeder off the platform, not seeming to notice that Tech was no longer 'unconscious'.

"Tech!" Quinlan called. "I locked it with special codes –"

The sound of a second engine starting up cut him off.

Quinlan stared at Crosshair, and then they both rushed to the edge, dropped flat, and looked beneath the platform.

Tech, balancing easily on the support beam, swung onto the running speeder.

"Tech!" Crosshair said. "You can't –"

"I'll be fine!" Tech slammed down the accelerator and leaned hard to the left, jolting the speeder from its precarious perch. The speederbike shot into midair and dropped nearly twelve meters before Tech could get it back under control. Crouching low over the handlebars, he shot off after Bane.

Quinlan got slowly to his feet, staring as Tech disappeared into the streams of traffic. "Okay, why . . .?"

Crosshair removed his helmet and gave Quinlan a deadly look. " _Why_ did you leave that speeder there?"

"I thought I might need it later?" Quinlan rubbed his head. "I swear I didn't know he even knew about it."

"We all knew about it." Crosshair didn't bother to explain, instead heading back toward Hunter.

"Should I – go after him?" Quinlan wondered why he was asking, because he had no way of going after him. He supposed he could always borrow another speeder. . .

"No," Crosshair said. "He knows what he's doing."

"That's not what you thought a moment ago," Quinlan muttered.

Crosshair ignored his comment in favor of removing Hunter's helmet. The commando sergeant was still unconscious, a rather odd shade of white – which made his tattoo look even stranger – and his nose was bleeding heavily.

Quinlan grabbed Hunter's right arm while Crosshair got his left, and they pulled him into a sitting position.

"He doesn't look so good," Quinlan observed.

Crosshair eyed Quinlan as though he had just said something incredibly stupid.

"What?"

"Electromagnetic pulses affect him badly." Crosshair got to his feet, dragging Hunter with him.

 _Oh, right. . . Tech said that already, didn't he?_ Quinlan helped position Hunter's arm across Crosshair's shoulders so that the sniper could bring him back to the ship.

 _Three down, one to go._ Grabbing Hunter's helmet in one hand, Quinlan moved towards Wrecker, who was already stirring. Probably just as well – he doubted he'd be able to move Wrecker on his own.

"What happened?" Wrecker groused, somehow managing to get to his feet without help. "Where's Bane?"

Quinlan tossed him the helmet and went to retrieve the artifacts from their 'hiding place' in plain sight on the duracrete. "He left. Hunter and Crosshair are on the ship."

"Oh, good." Wrecker turned on his heel, observing the platform. Apparently residual dizziness wasn't a problem with this guy. "What about Tech?"

 _Somehow, I really don't want to answer that question._ "Uh, he's following Bane. . ."

"WHAT?"

* * *

Tech glanced over one shoulder at the oncoming traffic and kicked the left accelerator, swerving up into a higher lane. Cad Bane was approximately two hundred meters ahead of him, and Quinlan Vos' speeder was old and not particularly fast.

He would simply have to make up for the lack of speed with a few well-timed tricks.

Keeping one hand on the steering apparatus, he took his datapad out. It was already locked on the ID of Bane's starfighter – all he had to do was pull up the map of Nal Hutta . . .

A transport rushed by him, the high-pitched whine of its engine filling his ears. His speeder skewed crazily, caught in the backwash, and Tech nearly dropped the datapad.

Gripping the speeder's saddle with both knees and his datapad with one hand, he threw his weight to the right. When the vehicle steadied, Tech aimed a quick glare at the now-distant transport. "That was _hardly_ helpful."

Bane's speeder was gaining distance. Adjusting his visor, Tech overlaid his vision with faint red lines that denoted a map of the area he was in. The datapad was already linked remotely to his helmet, so it was a matter of moments to send the map to it and pinpoint the position of the starfighter's ID.

Now, he could see exactly how far away he was from Bane's ship, which meant that he could locate a shorter route to Bane's apartment.

Flicking his gaze between the traffic and his datapad, Tech pointed the nose of his speeder up. Maintaining a heading of one hundred and ninety degrees should allow him to gain altitude without sacrificing speed.

Forty meters below him, Bane was turning into a much narrower street. It appeared that Bane was now at a disadvantage – he had been forced to slow down, due to the higher concentration of traffic. And the airway was particularly long. _Excellent. I can gain perhaps fifteen seconds from that, but I'll need a bit more. . ._

He could gain that time only by gaining speed.

Tech fixed the map in his mind, then clipped the datapad to his belt. He would definitely be needing both hands for this. Casting one last look at the traffic behind him, he floored the accelerator and leaned forward, tilting the speederbike down.

The rooftops of the lower buildings rushed towards him, growing larger with each passing second. Tech squinted, visualizing the map. Five more seconds . . . two, one –

He flung all his strength against the handles, nearly flipping the speeder as he forced it out of its headlong dive. For an exhilarating moment, he was sideways, driving along the wall as though it were a road. Then he was out in the open, and Bane was far behind, which was –

His helmet speaker buzzed. _"TECH!"_ Wrecker yelled angrily.

Tech shook his head against the ringing in his ears. "Ow."

_"What do you think you're doing? Hunter is gonna be so mad!"_

"Hunter is unconscious," replied Tech, swerving around an airbus. "He doesn't currently have the ability to be 'mad'."  
 _"Tech, you little –"_

Tech rolled his eyes. "I'm busy, Wrecker."

_". . . Doing what?"_

"A simple retrieval mission."

_"Wait. Retrieval?"_

"Yes." Tech eased up on the accelerator, glancing quickly all around. It should be in this area, right about . . . _there_.

Bane's starfighter was parked on a private landing pad, approximately fifty feet below him.

 _"Tech, what are you doing?"_ Wrecker sounded suspicious.

"I already told you. A retrieval mission." Tech disconnected his comm, then flew down in a tight loop, cutting speed abruptly as he neared the landing pad. He used the last of the speeder's momentum to coast around the starfighter, pointing the speeder's nose back towards the airway. Bane would probably see it, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Assuming his calculations were correct, he now had approximately thirty seconds before the Duros showed up. Tech ran across to the starfighter and busied himself by dropping a couple of magnetic charges into the fuel valve.

At ten seconds, he activated the charges, ducked behind the starfighter, took a linked detonator in one hand, and waited.

Twelve seconds later, he realized that he'd overestimated Bane's ETA a bit. Not by too much, hopefully. He was more than aware that he was exposed on this platform, and that he had no one watching his back.

Cad Bane's speeder seemed to appear out of nowhere, the rumbling of its engine loud as it drew to a halt opposite Tech's position.

"Hmm," Bane muttered. "Looks like we have a visitor."

Tech peeked over the front of the starfighter to see that Bane was examining Quinlan Vos' speeder.

Tech leaned down and gently rolled the electronic charge across the platform.

It made very little noise, but Bane heard it. "What the –?"

With a satisfied smirk, Tech pressed the detonator.

Cad Bane crumpled under the onslaught of electricity, and one of his jetpacks shorted out. Tech hurried over and removed the lightsaber, the handcuffs, and the small grenades from Bane's belt.

Bane struggled to reach his guns, but Tech snatched them and threw them toward the far end of the platform. Moving efficiently, he cuffed the bounty hunter's wrists and ankles, then dragged him a short distance away from the starfighter.

Cad Bane struggled, but his coordination and strength were gone. Electrical shock did tend to do that to people.

As the bounty hunter slurred threats in Tech's general direction, Tech hopped onto his speeder and took off, heading back for the airfield and landing platform nine.

He paused, a few hundred meters away, to watch with satisfaction as his magnetic charges went off, completely disabling all the electronic systems in the starfighter. Bane would have to put a good amount of work in before he could hope to fly _that_ again.

Now, to get back to the _Havoc Marauder. . ._ Tech realized his comms were still off and winced. Hunter would definitely be mad.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saying - Tech's POV is hard to write. This may be because I don't have a ton of technological know-how. . .
> 
> :D
> 
> As part of my NaNoWriMo project list, I've just finished going through 'Separatist Web' and re-writing it. I don't say 'editing' because I literally ended up re-wording many of the sentences. . . I also removed a shocking number of typos, neutralized the occasional plot inconsistency, reworked clunky dialogue, added a few thousand words' worth of scenes . . . you get the idea. ;D
> 
> All that was to say that, by Sunday, I'll have finished replacing all the posted chapters with updated content. If you happen to be the kind of person who likes to re-read things (as I do) then I hope this edition of 'Separatist Web' is more enjoyable than the last. :)
> 
> If you are reading 'Separatist Web' for the first time, even if you read it a year or more from now, I would be very happy to hear from you, even if it's only a 'Wow, Scorch is a brat', 'The commandos are awesome', or some other such obvious trifle. ;D Thank you!


	13. A Short Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't as long as I'd wanted it, but I don't want to skip a week, so here. Have a few thousand words. ;)

* * *

Little speckles of light chased each other across Hunter's vision, and his eyes felt as though they had been run through with large needles. But that couldn't be right . . . could it? The inside of his mouth was full of cotton – or maybe it just feel that way. And was that high-pitched ringing an alarm, or was he hearing things?

The familiar weight of his upper armor was gone, and he wondered about that for a moment. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was trying to run from something with . . . Crosshair. He and Crosshair had been running to get away from Bane's grenade, and Tech and Wrecker . . . where were they?

Keeping his eyes firmly shut, Hunter inched one hand out until his fingers brushed the edge of a mattress. He was on his bunk, which meant they were safe. Strange, he didn't remember the end of the battle. . .

_Oh, right – grenade._

He took a short breath, then slowly sat up. The needles in his skull grew sharper, and the ringing in his ears more intense. Well, at least that answered the question as to whether or not he'd been hearing an alarm.

He could hear someone breathing nearby. It wasn't Tech – the breathing was a fraction too slow.

"Crosshair," he muttered. His mouth wasn't full of cotton, apparently, because he heard himself speak, but the words felt strange. "Wrecker?"

"No, it's me. Uh, you kind of look . . . horrid."

Hunter's confusion grew for an instant, but then he managed to put a name to the voice. "Vos."

"Yeah." The Jedi was keeping his voice low, thankfully. "Bane left, but not before you got hit with an EMP grenade."

Hunter thought for a moment. That definitely made sense. "Oh."

"Yup."

There was a faint creak, and Hunter guessed that Vos had sat down on the locker opposite him. The Jedi did not seem inclined to leave.

With a sigh of resignation, Hunter opened his eyes a crack. His head pounded furiously at the added light, but if he could just get past the first few moments, he'd be fine. . . He opened his eyes all the way. A roaring pressure closed around his vision.

The next thing he knew, he was clutching at the edge of the cot to keep from pitching face-first into the ground, and someone's hand was on his shoulder.

"Wow," commented Vos, close to his ear. Hunter jerked away, surprised at his proximity, and Vos released him. "Sorry, you just looked like you were trying for a nosedive."

"I'm good," Hunter replied.

"Okay, but you still look like a –"

_"Vos."_

The Jedi sighed dramatically and flopped down on the crate.

After a long moment of silence, Hunter re-evaluated his situation. Opening his eyes suddenly hadn't been his best idea ever, but his headache was less now. Good. Give it a few more minutes, and he'd be back to being functional.

Bane must have failed, or Vos would probably be out chasing him down. . . Wait, what had the bounty hunter been after? Had he been trying to locate Vos? Or had he just been testing the commandos' capabilities?

When his internal chronometer reached three minutes, Hunter opened his eyes again. This time, he did not black out – in fact, the dim light made his fading headache only marginally worse.

Quinlan Vos still sat across from him, swinging his legs idly and gazing off into space. When he caught sight of Hunter looking at him, he gave him a relieved smirk. "You know, I was afraid that grenade had broken your head."

Hunter squinted at him, trying to reason through that statement. "It was an EMP grenade. It knocks out people."

"Yeah, well you looked like death. I mean, _apart_ from the skull tattoo and all."

Hunter just looked at him for a moment, then got carefully to his feet and moved towards the door. "Where are the others?"

"Oh, uh. Outside . . . somewhere."

Hunter stopped short, one hand resting on the side of the door. "Vos – what aren't you telling me?"

* * *

Quinlan followed the commando sergeant out of the barracks and into the cargo hold, keeping an eye on Hunter in case he decided to black out again. "Well, Crosshair and Wrecker are keeping an eye on the platform. I don't know exactly where Tech is. He grabbed my speeder and took off after Bane."

"Why?" Hunter's voice was remarkably calm – maybe because raising his voice would make his headache worse.

"I literally have no idea." Quinlan raised an eyebrow as Hunter hesitated in front of the closed door, but didn't comment. "I thought the knockout gas Bane used had taken him out, but he was faking it."

Hunter sighed. In one movement, he opened the door and stepped onto the boarding ramp, ducking his head and shading his eyes against the slightly brighter light.

 _Good thing it's not daylight,_ Quinlan mused. _He'd probably give himself an aneurysm._

Crosshair appeared at the end of the ramp, eyed Hunter and then Quinlan, and said exactly nothing. He seemed mostly recovered from the attack – a little sore, maybe, but that was all.

Wrecker, on the other hand, stomped over to them muttering loudly under his breath. "Hunter, you okay?"

"Yes."

"Good, because Tech cut his comms."

Hunter's tone remained absolutely mild. "He what?"

"Cut his comms!"

"When?"

"A couple minutes ago. He was headed east, last I saw. Said he was on a retrieval mission."

Quinlan blinked. "Retrieval? But Bane didn't get what he was after – I hid the urn and the light . . . sabers. . ." He smacked himself in the forehead, somewhat to Crosshair's surprise. "Lightsaber! I am such an idiot!"

Quinlan spun around and dove back into the ship's cockpit. "Before we went on that mission to Grakkus' place, I left my own lightsaber here!" he called over his shoulder. He rifled quickly through the small weapon's locker. "Yeah, it's gone."

"So Bane took it?" Wrecker yelled into the ship.

"Yeah, he must have thought we got it from Grakkus' vault." Quinlan rejoined them, folding his arms in annoyance. "Blast it all – how'd I miss seeing that he had it?"

"Hm," said Hunter. "Tech obviously saw it."

"Why didn't he say anything, though?"

Crosshair rolled his eyes. "Because he knew you'd go after it if he did."  
"Oh, _now_ you know this?"

"Yes."

Quinlan frowned at the sniper, who frowned back.

Their silent disagreement was interrupted by the high-pitched whine of a speeder, and all four of them turned to watch the edge of the platform.

Tech coasted in, braked to a halt beside them, and powered down the speeder.

"Hi, Tech." Wrecker stumped around the front of the speeder.

Tech scrambled off on the opposite side, hurriedly joined Crosshair, and pretended that he hadn't been trying to get away from Wrecker. "Hunter! I – didn't expect you'd be awake so quickly."

"Hm, I imagine not." Hunter's tone was even as he looked back at his recalcitrant squad mate. "Did you get Vos' lightsaber?"

"I did." Tech removed the weapon from his belt and tossed it to Quinlan.

Wrecker drew closer.

Tech took a casual step away, putting Crosshair between himself and the bigger clone. "Why is everyone standing around outside the ship?"

"We were waiting for you," replied Hunter. "Why did you cut your comms?"

Tech looked guilty. "Because I was attempting to focus, and Wrecker's questions were distracting me."

Quinlan turned the lightsaber over. It looked completely unharmed. "You got this from Bane – but how?"

Tech glanced up at him with a tiny smirk. "I reached his ship's landing platform ahead of him, set some charges, shocked him when he arrived, and handcuffed him before he could recover."

Quinlan couldn't help a quick feeling of vindication. "Good! Wait. . . you didn't leave his ship intact, did you?"

Tech looked affronted. "I most certainly did not. I disabled it with an electromagnetic pulse charge."

"Poetic justice," Quinlan said gleefully, then caught Hunter's look. "What? It was. . ."

"Tech," said Hunter, folding his arms. "If Bane had gotten the better of you while your comms were off, we wouldn't have been able to find you in time."

Tech pursed his lips. "He wasn't supposed to kill us, though."

"He might have anyway!" Hunter looked as though his headache had returned with a vengeance. "What made you think a bounty hunter like Bane always follow orders? _We_ don't always follow _our_ orders, do we?"

"No," Tech admitted begrudgingly.

"And even if he didn't kill or injure you, your following him could have jeopardized the mission!"

Tech's gaze faltered.

"If you're going to rush off without backup and against orders, you at least have to maintain communications." Hunter raised his voice. "Do _not_ deactivate your comms unless you have no other option. That is an order!"

Tech glanced at him apologetically. "Yes, Hunter."

"Just . . ." Hunter grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's get back inside and regroup."

He and Crosshair entered the ship, and Quinlan clipped his lightsaber thoughtfully to his belt. Tech had said something about none of the Bad Batch being a corporal. Was Hunter the only one who could keep these guys in order? If Hunter had given Tech a direct order to return _while_ he was chasing Bane, would Tech have listened, or continued on?

Just now, Tech hadn't answered as a soldier to a sergeant. In fact, Quinlan got the impression that Tech was apologizing for worrying Hunter, and possibly for having been foolish – but not for having been out of line.

Quinlan scratched his jaw and glanced down the boarding ramp, where Tech and Wrecker were whispering furiously. He distinctly heard Wrecker mutter, ". . . _told_ you he'd be mad."

Tech straightened in outrage and elbowed Wrecker hard, somehow managing to send the bigger clone stumbling a step or two to the right.

Quinlan cleared his throat. "Hey, Tech."

The commando deliberately turned away from Wrecker. "Yes?"

"Thanks for getting my saber back. I, uh . . . didn't even notice when Bane took it."

Tech looked guilty again. "I suppose I should have told you."

"Would have been nice." Quinlan shrugged. "But anyway. How'd you get through those speeder codes so fast?"

"I sliced them earlier today, while accessing your starfighter. You used the same algorithm for both codes."

"Ah. Yeah, silly of me . . ." Quinlan followed Wrecker up the ramp. "Crosshair said you guys all knew about the speeder?"

"Yup!" Wrecker tossed his gun on a storage rack and headed through the cargo hold. Tech trailed after him.

Quinlan hesitated, then followed. "Okay, but _how?"_

Crosshair appeared in the doorway Wrecker had just gone through. "I saw it."

"You saw it. Through the duracrete?"

"No," said Tech. "Crosshair was in the building you had us investigate. It is higher than this platform, and he happened to be at the right angle."

Crosshair smirked. "Tech means you hid it badly."

Tech rolled his eyes and slipped past the sniper.

"Crosshair," said Hunter from inside the room. "If you and Vos could get in here sometime _before_ Bane returns, I'd appreciate it."

With a final glance in each other's direction, they went in.

Hunter was seated at the table, slouched against the wall and still looking like he'd been run over by one of those droid tanks the Separatists were so fond of.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "You look like you've been run over by a tank."

Wrecker snorted, and Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Thanks. I guess it's a step up from looking like death."

Quinlan nodded amiably and folded his arms, viewing the room with interest. It was actually pretty comfortable, as far as ship galleys went. Of course, when you were traveling in a ship all the time, it was best to have somewhere to relax, because there wasn't much space to move around in.

The galley was small, but efficiently designed. Two of the walls were lined with packages of rations and mineral drinks. A rectangular table rested in one corner, surrounded on three sides by a bench.

Wrecker marched over to the table with an armload of ration packs, utensils, and drinks and dumped them in a pile. "Hey, Vos! You want something?"

Quinlan shook his head. "Thanks, but I've got stuff on my ship."

"Which is currently gone," Tech reminded him.

"Yeah, but –"

"We've got plenty of time before your ship arrives," Hunter pointed out. "Not much else to do right now."

Both things were true . . . and besides, Quinlan wasn't exactly looking forward to eating out-of-date ration bars again, though he'd never tell them that. "Okay, thanks."

Tech slipped in next to Hunter, Wrecker sat across from them, and Crosshair on the shorter bench between them. Quinlan continued to stand in the doorway.

"Sit down, Vos," Hunter suggested. His words were polite, but the intonation in his voice implied that he was tired of seeing Quinlan hover.

"Uh . . . yeah." He seated himself gingerly in the corner between Wrecker and Crosshair and caught the ration pack that Tech slid to him. "I guess we should be figuring out what happens once my starfighter lands here."

"Hm," said Hunter, who wasn't eating. "How are we going to play that, anyway?"

Quinlan snapped the middle of the ration pack to start it heating. "Well . . . I'm open to ideas."

For a moment all four of them watched him.

Quinlan eyed them cautiously back as he opened the rations. He sniffed appreciatively at the scent of meat and vegetable stew and reached for a spoon. "Anything wrong with being open to ideas?"

Hunter shook his head, then winced. "No . . ."

"Uh-huh. Then what is it?"

"What do you want me to say?" Hunter reached for a pouch of water. "That having a mission leader who doesn't know what comes next is inspiring?"

 _There it is again._ Quinlan swallowed a mouthful of stew and gestured with his spoon. "No, but I didn't say I didn't know what came next."

Crosshair fidgeted with the seal on his ration pack, which he still hadn't opened, and shot Quinlan a criticizing look. "You implied it."

"I _said_ that I was open to ideas."

"You _said_ it uncertainly," mocked Crosshair.

"It didn't sound uncertain to me."

"It did to us."

"Well – whatever."

Wrecker topped eating to give the two of them an uncertain look. "Hey, why do you two keep arguing?"

Crosshair looked vaguely displeased. He tore the seal off his pack, folded it in a precise square, and set it neatly on the pile of wrappers.

Quinlan tossed his own crumpled wrapper on top of the folded one, then rested his chin in one hand. "Probably because we disagree on key issues," he said mournfully.

Once again, the four commandos stared at him, Tech with his spoon frozen halfway to his mouth.

 _Heh, threw 'em off balance._ Quinlan took another bite, ignoring their surprised looks. They were probably trying to figure out what he meant by 'key issues', but since he hadn't actually meant anything, they'd be unable to.

He chewed deliberately and swallowed. "So, _as_ I was saying. I'm open to ideas about how we're going to pull this off. My ship will land here soon, I will 'meet' you guys and talk you into working for Vythia . . . And then we're on to the mission."

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Right. So what's there to decide?"

"Price. Supplies. Whether you guys are supposed to have prior experience with artifacts or not. Whether you're willing to work with other bounty hunters or not. The usual."

"Wait," said Wrecker. "We're gonna get _paid_ for sabotaging Vythia's plans?"

"Not unless she's dumb enough to pay us in advance."

Hunter cracked his neck, and Tech shot him a displeased look. "Hunter."

The sergeant cracked both elbows. "Yeah?"

Tech huffed and gave up, and Hunter turned to Quinlan. "Vos, did you negotiate a price with Vythia already?"

"Yep. I don't have a reputation as a bounty hunter, so I pretended to be willing to work for a lower rate."

"Do we have a reputation?" Crosshair asked, stirring his food around.

"Not apart from that whole business with Grakkus. She'll be impressed by that, but I still wouldn't drive a hard bargain with her. Hunter, you'll have to take care of that part of things."

"Right. . ." Hunter glanced down in thought. "Any ideas what a reasonable price would be?"

"For four of you, plus the ship – ? Who knows. Depends on what she wants you to do on the mission. If all she wants you to do is guard the ship while she and I hunt down artifacts, you won't be paid much."

"So we keep playing it by ear," Hunter said.

"Yeah. The real challenge is going to be getting her to let you work with me. If we're constantly under surveillance, coordinating anything will be a problem." Quinlan spooned up the last of the stew.

"What will we need to coordinate?" Tech asked. "Do we know definitely what you will be doing on Malachor? Vythia hired you for your psychometric abilities, but . . ."

Quinlan bent his disposable spoon until it snapped, then stared meditatively at the broken pieces. "Guys, we're literally flying blind here. I'm hoping to get another call from the Jedi Council, but in the end our objectives might not be the ones we start out with."

Wrecker grabbed the pile of trash from the center of the table and crammed it into the disposal unit. "We're making it up as we go? Sounds fun to me!"

"It sounds dangerous," said Crosshair, probably just for the sake of disagreeing, and continued to stir his congealing stew around. He still hadn't eaten anything. If the sniper did this all the time, it was no wonder he looked like a toothpick. . . _Hm, that brings to mind the old adage . . ._

Quinlan cast Crosshair a sideways look. "They say 'you are what you eat'. Those toothpicks you're so fond of – you don't _eat_ them, do you?"

To his surprise, Hunter snorted with surprised laughter. He grimaced and squinted an instant later, but his eyes still glinted with amusement.

Wrecker chortled and clapped Quinlan so hard on the back that he nearly hit the table with his nose – something which seemed to amuse Crosshair to no end.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I forget - SandriasSaber left, in a recent guest review on FF: 'I'm sorry about this; but kinda not. Could you do a side story? Possibly explain just how crazy Cody really is around the guys? You don't have to, but just so you know that there is at least one person interested)'
> 
> *clears throat delicately* Actually . . . part of the reason I'm putting those little hints of history into this story is because I'm planning out a story involving Bad Batch's first mission ever. :D
> 
> The logic behind my theory of Cody being secretly crazy runs thusly:
> 
> 1) Still waters run deep.
> 
> 2) Cody is dangerously quiet.
> 
> 3) You need to be crazy to keep up with Obi-Wan, which Cody does pretty consistently.


	14. Preparation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! . . . Sorry. Had to do it at least once. :P
> 
> Guys, the Bad Batch preview looked so awesome - ! Though I scarcely need to tell you that. :D

* * *

It had been a rather long couple of hours, all told. Hunter, still suffering from the persistent headache that ebbed and spiked every few minutes, stayed in the background as much as he could . . . which wasn't much, because preparing for a mission meant that he was always overseeing several things at once.

Currently, he was sitting in the cockpit, leaning back as he held a datapad so Tech could easily see it. Tech had removed one of the metal panels from the wall and was referring to the datapad every four seconds as he checked his latest fuel line upgrade.

In the cargo hold behind them, Wrecker had emptied the munitions crates and was checking each ammo clip and powerpack for readiness. The job should have taken him about an hour, but he'd kept on stopping to throw things at Crosshair, who was being annoying again. Hunter hadn't heard the argument, but it was probably something to do with Crosshair being able to pick out faulty ammo clips from across the hold, whereas Wrecker had to examine each one carefully.

About fifteen minutes ago, Hunter had sent Crosshair out to scout the landing platform with Vos, who'd left some time earlier. It probably hadn't been a tactically sound decision, now that he really stopped to think about it. Still, they were working together the entire mission, so Crosshair had better figure out how to work with the Jedi now.

Hunter sighed. "If Vos is going to be on the _Havoc Marauder_ the entire mission like he suspects. . . it's going to be an interesting flight." He glanced down at his hyper-focused teammate and realized he was talking to himself.

Well – not like he hadn't done that before. He leaned his head back against the wall and kept talking, the datapad hanging limply from his fingers. "I wonder how long the flight will take. I couldn't find anything about Malachor in the GAR database. . . Presumably it's in the Outer Rim somewhere."

Tech looked blankly up. "Did you say something?"

"Just thinking aloud about Malachor."

Tech went back to making minor adjustments to a junction box. "Well, Malachor isn't in the GAR database," he said. Apparently he'd registered that Hunter was talking, but not what he'd just said.

"Right," said Hunter.

"There are, however, legends about it on the holonet. It is most likely situated in the Outer Rim, or possibly even in Wild Space."

"Yeah, that's what I figured." Hunter shifted his position, inadvertently shifting the datapad away, and Tech reached up to adjust it.

Wrecker entered the cockpit. "All the ammo's taken care of," he announced.

"Good job." Hunter got to his feet and handed him the datapad. "Here, hold this for Tech. We've got a few minutes until Vos' ship arrives. I'm going to check on the others."

He went to the boarding ramp and stepped out into the cool night. The airfield was on a high enough level that the atmosphere was fresh, and one could still feel what faint breezes there were. Hunter was just glad that they were on Nar Shaddaa and not Nal Hutta. That place had given him a crawling sensation the entire time they were there.

Keeping one hand on his pistol, he moved silently across the dimly lit platform. He found Vos immediately.

The Jedi was kneeling at the very edge, hands folded in his lap, staring grimly out over the city as though feeling its soul. . . or something else dark.

Crosshair slipped silently up behind Hunter. "He's been like that for ages."

Hunter nodded his understanding. "The platform's secure?"

"Yes." With that, Crosshair headed out on another circuit around the platform, leaving Hunter to talk to Vos.

Hunter stared down at the Jedi for a moment. He honestly didn't know what to think of Vos. At one moment, he'd be looking at one of the commandos as though he could see straight through him; then, an instant later, he'd be making a random statement or a snide remark, or be wandering about the hold, tapping here and there on the wall or stopping to examine some object or other.

Hunter cleared his throat. "Vos."

The Jedi blinked once or twice, as though coming out of a trance, and looked up in faint surprise.

"We've got a couple minutes left," said Hunter. "The starfighter's about here."

"Oh, right. Yeah." Vos looked out over the city again, then jumped to his feet. "Well, let's get out of the way. Wouldn't want Tech to land my ship on our heads."

He ran back to the ship, leaving Hunter to follow, more perplexed than before. The Jedi's eyes had looked almost old when he was watching the city, and now he was back to being – well, weird in a different way than he'd been being a minute ago.

Crosshair joined him, and they mounted the steps in silence.

They entered the ship in time to see Tech, his head bent over a datapad, walk out of the cockpit and right into Quinlan Vos.

Tech paused, as though resetting his spatial awareness. "Oh."

The Jedi took the datapad and looked at it upside down. "What's so interesting?"

"I sliced into the airfield tower's power grid," Tech said. He plucked the datapad out of Vos' hands, turned it right side up, and gave it back. "The floodlights and security cameras will be down for six and a half minutes, starting - now."

The slight shadows that Hunter and Crosshair were casting vanished suddenly, and Hunter turned back to see that the whole airfield had gone pitch black. He stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind them.

"Good," said Quinlan. "We don't want _any_ sort of record available."

"That you're not in your ship?" Hunter verified.

"Right."

Wrecker joined them, towering over Tech. "You think Vythia will check?"

"No . . . but I don't like taking chances."

"You don't?" Hunter eyed him. "So what was that with the knife and the droid?"

"Oh, that. Uh –" The Jedi rubbed at one arm. "It was a calculated risk."

Crosshair sniffed. "Oh, _please."_

"Fine," Vos admitted. "It was an instinctive reaction. But I'm serious about taking risks when it comes to mission planning. If we mess up once, we're dead men walking."

"What?" Wrecker asked, confused.

Vos turned to face him and leaned one shoulder against the wall. His expression and eyes were completely serious. "I mean that Vythia is the dangerous type. If she discovers we're not who we claim to be, she won't let us know. She'll lead us on, hire us, take us on the mission, whatever it takes . . . then, the instant she's got an advantage or finds what she wants, she'll either kill us herself or have us killed."

"She sounds like a dangerous enemy," Hunter said. "But how do you know all that?"

The Jedi shook his head. "I _don't_ know it, not the way you mean. I just have this feeling. Which –" He glanced around at them. "Yeah, I guess that isn't very reassuring, is it? I guess that kind of feeling doesn't mean much to people who aren't Force-sensitive."

"It does," said Crosshair unexpectedly, casting a look at Hunter. "If by 'feeling' you mean 'instinct'."

Vos studied him. "A feeling or premonition from the Force isn't the same as instinct, but I guess that's close enough."

Hunter wondered if the Force feeling that Vos talked about was similar to the feeling for danger that he himself had. Maybe that had something to do with his mutation, though, not with instinct. Strange that he'd never thought to ask . . .

"Your starfighter is landing," Tech reported. "What should we do?"

"Stay in the ship," Vos said, heading for the cargo hold entrance. "I'll sneak out and be back in a minute."

Wrecker pushed Tech forward so he could move all the way into the corridor. "I don't like this, Hunter."

"What part of it, exactly?" Hunter asked.

"All this sneaking around. We don't have someone to fight, because we're pretending to be on her side. We don't even know what we're _doing_ yet."

Hunter let out his breath. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

"We have to outsmart her," said Crosshair, a tone of actual interest in his voice. "We have to act as though _we_ don't suspect _her,_ while undermining her plans."

"Cross," said Hunter leniently. "Why is it the one time the rest of us aren't happy about the mission, you are?"

"I'm not _happy_ about it." Crosshair paused, as though trying to put his thoughts into words. "It's . . . a different kind of challenge."

"Yes," put in Tech. "We will be performing an infiltration, as we have before, but this time our skills will be put to a different use – as will any data we gain."

"Well, yeah," said Wrecker. "But what if we have to spend the entire time pretending and not doing anything?"

"I doubt that will be the case," Crosshair said.

"Just think . . ." A spark of excitement entered Tech's eyes. "If Vythia hires us, we'll be going to a planet no one has visited in thousands of years!"

 _I should have known that Tech would be interested in that aspect,_ thought Hunter in resignation. "Right," he said aloud. "Which means there could be anything there."

"I know!" Tech said with a small, excited smile.

"Anything," repeated Hunter, folding his arms. "Including very dangerous creatures or places. We'll probably be entering ancient buildings and tunnels. We don't even know if there is a native population or not."

Tech did not look phased in the least. If anything, he looked more fascinated.

Hunter sighed.

A knock on the door signaled Vos' return, and Crosshair opened it.

The Jedi slipped in, shutting the door so fast that it nearly closed on the short cape he wore. "Okay. I shut off the lifeform signal generator. I think we're all set."

"So what now?" Wrecker asked.

"Now, we wait about half an hour and then I'll comm Vythia and we'll head to the Prince's territory." Vos cast a slightly apprehensive look toward the cargo hold. "You've heard nothing from Bane, I suppose."

"His ship is still on the platform where I left it," confirmed Tech.

"Right. . . Okay. I guess I'd better destroy that artifact now."

"Want help?" Wrecker offered. "I've got some quiet explosives."

"Thanks, but no." Vos gave him a quick grin and headed for the hold, where they'd stored the spirit urn. "Carry on, guys, I'll be back shortly."

Hunter watched him leave. "Crosshair, Wrecker, make sure everything's locked down for flight. Tech, run your pre-flight check. I don't want to get there and find out we've got something to fix."

He waited until they left – Tech for the cockpit and Wrecker and Crosshair for the barracks and cargo hold – then slipped outside, shutting the door behind him. He took cover near the back of the _Marauder_. Vos probably wouldn't destroy the artifact inside the ship . . . earlier, before he'd decided to hold off on destroying it, he'd been headed outside.

Hunter could tell that Vos didn't want anyone around right now, but if dark side energy affected the Jedi the way that EMPs affected Hunter, well – _Sorry, Vos, but a concussed Jedi is the last thing we need on this mission._

A moment later, the door hissed open. Hunter caught a brief glimpse of Vos walking down the steps, the spirit urn clenched in one hand, before the closing door cut off the light. Hunter closed his eyes to accustom them to the dark for a moment, then opened them again.

Vos stopped only a few meters away, apparently unaware of Hunter's presence, and Hunter realized two things: first, that even without his helmet, Hunter could see better than Vos; and second, that the presence of the dark side interfered more severely with Vos' abilities than he'd initially thought. Of course, Vos hadn't sensed Aurra's lasers earlier, but Hunter was much closer than Aurra had been.

That did not bode well. If Vythia was right about the artifacts, Malachor would probably be _full_ of dark side energy. _Oh, this isn't good. But at least the squad won't be directly affected by it. . . though the mission will be._

Vos drew in a long breath, and then there was a shattering of glass as he threw the spirit urn to the duracrete.

_Is destroying it really that simple?_

The Jedi let out a sharp hiss of pain, nearly doubling over, and Hunter jumped towards him. Just as he reached out, Vos collapsed to his knees, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other hand pressed to his head.

He hadn't passed out, though, and didn't look to be in danger of giving himself a concussion, so Hunter stepped back and waited.

It took nearly half a minute before the Jedi recognized his presence. When he did, he forced himself to straighten, brought his hand away from his face, and gritted out, "Why are you here?"

"Thought you might need help," Hunter said laconically.

"I. . . _ugh."_ He doubled over again, looking like he was about to be sick. "Go away."

Hunter nodded and obeyed, speaking over one shoulder as he left. "Two minutes, then I'm coming out to get you. Airfield lights are back on in three."

The only answer was a groan.

Hunter entered the ship to see Crosshair eyeing him curiously. "What?"

"Nothing."

Crosshair left. Before Hunter could decide whether or not to take his words at face value, Wrecker came out of the cargo hold. "Everything's locked down! We can leave whenever you want."

"Great." Hunter leaned into the cockpit. "Tech? Everything ready in here?"

"Yep, Sarge, we're ready."

"Hunter," he corrected.

"Ah, yes." Tech blinked in displeasure at his mistake. "We're ready, Hunter. I am running a remote preflight check on Quinlan Vos' starfighter, but everything looks just fine."

"Okay. We'll be leaving shortly."

Hunter stood in the corridor, lounging against the wall as he waited. Ninety-four seconds later, Vos entered the ship, his face pinched and his eyes dark. The instant the door closed behind him, the Jedi leaned against the wall, slid down it, and rested his head on his knees.

Hunter said nothing.

Crosshair, when he entered the corridor, also said nothing, merely stepping past with a single glance on his way to the cargo hold.

Tech appeared briefly to report that the airfield's power grid was back online.

Hunter went to fetch his blaster and a rag and then returned to the corridor, where he set to work carefully cleaning each piece. He'd done it earlier, of course; he always cleaned his weapons directly after each mission, but it was something that kept his hands busy, and there were no more explosives to wire at the moment.

He could hear Tech tinkering with something or other – probably that new scramble key he'd managed to get last time they were on Kamino. The tiny clinking sounds indicated that Wrecker was lifting weights. Hunter hoped he was using actual weights this time, and not a weapons locker. He'd lost his balance while doing that during a flight, once, and dropped the entire locker with an alarming crash.

Hunter reassembled his rifle and moved on to his pistol. There was no sound whatsoever from Crosshair, which most likely meant that he was reading. Crosshair occasionally acted annoyed when Tech spouted random bits of useless knowledge, but, a surprising number of times, he'd add on to Tech's comments instead – and then look sour about it after. It was as though he thought he shouldn't _be_ interested in things that were irrelevant to the current mission.

Then again, maybe Crosshair just didn't want anyone to know that he was interested in anything, period.

Tech, of course, didn't care what people thought – if he liked something, he liked it and told everyone about it, too.

Hunter had always thought him a little too trusting, a little too friendly. Crosshair was the opposite. His standard behavior when someone unfamiliar was around was to close up like a lee romay clam – when he wasn't busy annoying that person.

Wrecker. . . Wrecker followed Hunter's judgment as far as new people went, a fact which concerned him. If Hunter tolerated someone, so would Wrecker. If Hunter was suspicious of someone, so was Wrecker. To some extent, all three of Hunter's squad mates were influenced by his instincts about people.

 _And so far, I've been right,_ thought Hunter, holstering his pistol. Vos still hadn't moved, so Hunter pulled out his knife and twirled it between his fingers. _If I'm ever wrong, though, it might prove fatal._

He shook off the thought. They didn't work with other people much, anyway, and worrying about something he couldn't change was a waste of time and energy. Still . . .

Hunter looked at the Jedi, then his chronometer. It had already been twenty minutes since the starfighter landed outside, but the Jedi was still sitting motionless. Maybe he'd fallen asleep.

"Vos," Hunter said.

Vos mumbled something into his knees.

Okay, not asleep, then. "You still want to pull out of here in ten minutes? We can always delay it, tell Vythia we took a lot of convincing or something."

"No. . ." Vos shifted slowly into a cross-legged position and blinked wearily at the ground for a moment. "Sithspit."

 _Okay, that's not one I've heard yet._ Hunter couldn't help a faint smirk. "Is that an actual expression?"

"Yeah." The Jedi put one hand on the ground and one on the wall and stood slowly up. "Stupid Sith and their stupid artifacts."

Hunter sheathed his knife. "They seem to have been effective."

"I still say they're stupid."

Hunter wasn't sure how an artifact could be stupid, since it wasn't actually sentient, but it didn't matter. He glanced at Vos' pale face and the shadows around his eyes and couldn't help himself. "Vos. . . you look like death."

A glimmer of amusement entered the Jedi's eyes, and he shook his head. "I should have seen that one coming."

Hunter headed for the cargo hold, leaving Vos to follow more slowly. Tech was staring fixedly at a bunch of wires, as though somehow his intent glare could untangle them; Wrecker was still lifting the weapons locker over his head – Hunter sighed – and Crosshair was lying flat on his stomach on a nearby crate, reading.

Hunter leaned sideways and squinted at the datapad, but the writing was too small for him to read. Crosshair smirked without ever looking up.

When Vos made it to the hold, Hunter snapped his fingers twice. Tech looked up from the wires; Wrecker managed to set the locker down with only a slight thump; and Crosshair folded himself into a more conventional position.

"I'm going to call Vythia," the Jedi said, rubbing at his eyes as though to force alertness back into them.

Tech studied him with a frown. "Do you feel unwell?"  
"Nope. I feel horrid. Where'd I put that comlink?"

Tech looked pointedly at Vos' glove.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He slipped it out from between the fabric and his skin. "Listen, if she asks to hear from any of you, keep it to Hunter as much as possible. We want her to know from the first that you guys are a team, and he's in charge."

"That's easy enough," Tech said with a slight shrug.

"Yeah," said Wrecker. "We don't have to pretend that!"

"Good." Vos cleared his throat, straightened up, and activated the comlink.

_"This is Vythia Archane."_

"Quinlan Vos. The team's onboard. Literally."

 _"That was a quick decision,"_ she said musingly.

"Yeah, I was kind of surprised." The Jedi glanced at Hunter. "I think part of it is that they want to leave Hutta Town pretty quick anyway. Turns out, they somehow managed to annoy Bane _after_ annoying Grakkus."

_"Hm. So I heard."_

"Look, Vythia," he said. "I thought you told me Bane and I wouldn't be running into each other, but he's still in Hutta Town. . . and you seem to have known about it."

 _"Things did not go according to plan,"_ she said. _"Bane was supposed to carry out a short task for me, then return,"_ she said. _"He would have been gone before you arrived, but the bounty hunters damaged his ship. He is still repairing it."_

Without changing his expression, Vos gave Tech a thumbs-up.

 _"Quinlan,"_ said Vythia. _"Do you find it strange that they merely disabled Cad Bane's ship, rather than killing him? He tells me that he not only got onto their ship and searched it, but that he injured two of them."_

"You want me to use my psychometry, is that it?"

_"I am merely wondering what was behind their decision."_

"I guess I could ask the leader. But if it had been me, I wouldn't have wanted to annoy the Prince by taking out his most expensive employee. . ."

She laughed. _"I see your point. Do they know that Bane was working for me?"_

"Yeah. I told them to talk to you about whatever he was looking for."

_"Excellent. Escort them here, if you would. I will speak with you all once you arrive."_

"Okay. Are you sending me back to this town, or are we done?"

_"Why?"_

Quinlan sighed. "Because I hate sitting in cramped cockpits for hours, and my ship put more time in yesterday and today than I'm happy with. I would rather spend ten minutes convincing the bounty hunters to let me ride with them."

_"Do you have a hyperdrive ring?"_

"Nope. I mostly use my ship for local flights . . . store it on a cargo vessel for longer ones."

_"Then I can think of no reason why you couldn't leave it in Hutta Town."_

"Gee, thanks."

There was a short pause. _"I trust you realize that I am not so foolish as to give you unnecessary orders,"_ she said. _"Only when something pertains to the job I have hired you for will I even make suggestions."_

Vos raised an interested eyebrow. "Well – that works for me. The bounty hunters have a pretty fast ship, so once I argue my way onboard, it shouldn't take us more than a couple hours to get to the warehouse."

_"Very well. I look forward to meeting these men."_

The connection was cut, and Vos dropped his characterization abruptly, stumbling over to a crate to sit down.

The commandos watched him.

Vos looked up after a moment. "Guys. . . I know I said we were playing a part, but do _not_ make me argue my way onboard."

Tech's eyes gleamed mischievously. "You're already onboard."

Quinlan gave him an unimpressed look.

"What about your ship?" asked Hunter.

"Oh. . . yeah. I'll put it in the airfield hangar – blast it all. I forgot."

"You forgot what?"

"I'd better let the Council know I'm not going to be in contact for a while. There's a tracking beacon in my ship that'll let them find me. No point in having another Jedi barging around Nar Shaddaa, trying to figure out what happened to me."

Tech started tapping at his datapad.

"Would they send someone?" asked Hunter.

"Not normally, but this mission is important – Sith Lord – y'know."

He wasn't sounding particularly coherent at the moment, Hunter thought. "You can comm them from here, though?"

"Yeah. I'm just . . ." He sighed wearily, plugged in a different code, and waited.

_"This is Master Fisto."_

"Hi."

_"Ah, Quinlan! How are you, my friend?"_

"Dead."

_"Indeed? You sound surprisingly alive for someone who has entered the Force."_

"It's called the Living Force for a reason," Quinlan said irreverently, leaning against the wall. "'Sides, you've never been dead before."

_"That might change. I am currently on my way to meet with Luminara. Nute Gunray has escaped."_

Hunter frowned. Another disadvantage for the Republic.

 _"Do you need help?"_ Fisto sounded concerned.

"Yeah, thanks." Quinlan thought for a moment. "I'm a little pressed for time right now, so I can't really explain, but Yoda knows about my mission. Just let the Council know that I'll be out of contact and away from my ship for a few days at the least. Probably longer, actually."

_". . . I will do so. Are you working a solo mission, Quinlan?"_

"Not this time. I've got clone commandos with me. I'm on their ship now."

_"Ah! How interesting. I've never yet worked with them, but I hear they are exceptionally skilled."_

"You'd better stop," Quinlan said. "Their heads are big enough as it is."

Wrecker snorted.

_"They are with you currently?"_

"Yep. We've worked together for a bit, annoyed a few important people –"

 _"And they haven't thrown you off the ship yet?"_ Fisto said in surprise. _"Commandos, I congratulate you on your forbearance!"_

Hunter stepped closer to the comlink, smirking at the offended look on Quinlan's face. "Thanks."

_"You are welcome. Quinlan, is there anything further?"_

"Just tell the Council not to even try contacting me. I don't want to risk anyone back-tracing the signal."

_"Very well. Good luck on your mission, all of you. May the Force be with you."_

"Oh, it is," Vos said dryly. When Fisto cleared his throat, Vos straightened. "Oh, right. I mean, you too, _Master_ Fisto."

Fisto laughed and cut the connection.

Quinlan Vos slipped the comlink back into his glove and rested his elbows on his knees. "Okay. I'm done taking calls."

"I take it that was a Jedi . . ." said Crosshair, looking slightly unsure.

"Yeah, Kit Fisto – he's a Nautolan and a _really_ good duelist. One of my crechemates, actually." He rubbed his eyes again. "I guess that would be kind of like you guys and your batchmates."

Tech flipped open his vambrace and typed out something. Probably a note about future research on Jedi.

Hunter glanced at his chronometer. "We'd better get started."

"Right." Quinlan Vos got jerkily to his feet. "Just give me a few minutes to register my ship in the airfield hangar."

"I've already done it," said Tech. "I will pilot your fighter there and return."

He hopped up, glancing at Hunter for permission. Hunter nodded, and Tech ran from the ship.

"Thanks," said Vos belatedly.

"One question," asked Hunter. "One of us could have flown your fighter to the Prince's territory. Why do you want it here?"

"It's not so much that I _want_ it here. But if we spend two or three hours on the same ship, Vythia won't be suspicious when we show up acting like we know each other. It's better to cover for the truth than act a lie. . ." His voice trailed away and he stared at the floor for a long moment.

Crosshair hopped down from the crate. "I'll start the engines." He left the room, and Wrecker followed.

Hunter thought back to the spirit urn. "Vos, did you leave the artifact outside?"

"It . . . destroyed itself," the Jedi explained vaguely. "You break something like that, it turns to ash. . . it blew away before I went inside."

That sounded strange, but then – so far, everything having to do with the Sith was strange. "We'll leave as soon as Tech gets back."

"Yeah." Quinlan stared at him as though waiting for Hunter to continue his thought.

Hunter did. "You don't have to stay awake. You need to be alert when we talk to Vythia. I don't think sitting on a crate is going to help with that."

"Uh. . ." Vos looked around, then slid to the ground, his back braced against the crate, his eyes shut. "Mind yelling for me when we get near the warehouse?"

"We've got barracks," Hunter pointed out. "With spare blankets. And you can even use one of the bunks if you want."

"Sounds good," he slurred, eyes still closed as he made a feeble attempt to move.

It was making Hunter even more tired than he already was. He reached down, grabbed Vos by the elbows, and hoisted him to his feet.

Vos stumbled toward the barracks on autopilot, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and flopped down on the ground near the wall.

Hunter shrugged and left. That artifact must have really done a number on the Jedi. . . Again, he felt a strange sense of foreboding. _What if Vythia really has him find an artifact? We won't be able to hide the fact that he's a Jedi then. . ._

That was a worry for the future, though. He glanced in to see that Wrecker was piloting while Crosshair was in the co-pilot's seat, then looked around for Tech, who was just coming in, carrying a full supply pack. "Tech?"

"I locked down and secured the ship, and it's stored in the hangar – which looks like no one's entered in months." Tech pushed at the center of his goggles to reposition them on his nose. "I also got Vos' pack while I was there, since he seemed to have forgotten about it."

"Good. We're leaving, and it looks like Wrecker's piloting, so strap in."

With a smile at Tech's squawk of disbelief – "You said I couldn't pilot, but you're letting Wrecker?!" – Hunter headed to the cockpit and strapped in.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right - so, I kind of inadvertently referenced 'Separatist Web' there, but I liked the idea of Quinlan and Kit being crechemates, and then I thought, well, why not? So yes. This basically takes place at the same time as 'Separatist Web'.
> 
> I guess that's not chronologically correct - but then, CW had a Christophsis episode in Season - 2? When Christophsis was technically the first campaign chronologically in the series, so, y'know. . .


	15. Mission Begins

Quinlan woke suddenly from a deep sleep, as though he'd heard someone shouting his name. He twisted onto his knees and reached for his lightsaber before realizing that there was no one nearby.

He sat back on his heels and stared at the slate-grey wall. He was in the crew quarters on the _Havoc Marauder,_ which was on its way to the warehouse . . . or maybe it was already there?

Quinlan got up and something caught around his ankle. It was the blanket he'd grabbed earlier – black, standard army-issue, with the Republic insignia printed in grey on one corner. He shook it out – needlessly, since the floor was spotless – then folded it loosely and set it on the storage shelf.

He stretched carefully backwards to loosen his stiffened muscles, straightened out his tunic, which was somewhat more crumpled than even he was okay with, and stepped into the galley.

What time _was_ it, anyway? He glanced up at the chronometer before realizing that he didn't actually know when they were supposed to arrive at the warehouse. _Nice going, Vos. You destroy one Sith artifact and get knocked for a loop. . . Great. Good luck on Malachor. Thanks, I'll be needing it._

Giving a final tug to his tunic, he set briskly off toward the cockpit, skidded round a corner, slammed full force into Wrecker, and rebounded.

Wrecker didn't budge an inch, just stood there looking down at him with a mildly friendly expression. "Hey, Hunter was just sending me to wake you. We're landing."

"Perfect," Quinlan said, realizing that he'd probably woken because he'd sensed that they were near their destination. "Well, let's get ready to meet Vythia."

He followed Wrecker to the cockpit. Hunter was piloting, with Tech in the co-pilot's seat next to him, while Crosshair leaned his elbows on the back of Tech's chair and stared out through the viewport.

Quinlan slipped past Wrecker. "How's it looking?"

"Dark," said Hunter. "No landing lights anywhere."

"Yeah. I'd forgotten to mention that, sorry."

Crosshair slipped between the two pilots and stared down. "I don't see anything."

"Good enough," said Hunter, guiding the _Marauder_ carefully to a landing. "Vos, we flew slower than usual. It's been nearly four hours."

"Oh. . . Uh, thanks. I guess I needed the time."

"Are you recovered?"

"Yep." Quinlan folded his arms and refused to elaborate, despite the curiously questioning look Tech sent him. Honestly, Quinlan was a bit embarrassed at how easily he'd been overpowered by the sudden onslaught of dark energy. He'd known it wouldn't be pretty, but he hadn't thought he'd be so strongly affected. _Those ashes were from a particularly malevolent Sith. If I'd bothered to touch the urn for longer than two seconds, I'd have known that and been better prepared._

 _And of course Hunter had to see that. Ugh._ Quinlan raised an eyebrow at his own distaste. What did it matter, anyway? . . . He braced himself slightly as the ship settled with a faint thump. He knew exactly why it mattered. Hunter and the others already didn't see him as a leader, and showing weakness wasn't going to help that at all. Quinlan had learned over the course of the years that showing weakness to a group of enemies was like throwing meat to a pack of starving kath hounds. Maybe showing weakness to allies wasn't the same, but then again, maybe it was.

Of course, he wasn't in _danger_ from them, at least not directly. Hunter had managed to give him extra time to recover – whether that was because it was better for the mission or better for Quinlan almost didn't matter. But even if the commandos were on his side, their not seeing him as a leader was a danger for all of them.

What if he gave them an order that needed to be immediately obeyed? What if he didn't have time to explain something to them, and they refused to listen in time? What if the mission was a failure because he couldn't work well with others? _Come on, Vos, these guys are clones, clones are soldiers, and soldiers are trained to obey orders . . . obviously not well enough, though. . ._

Tech got up and checked his dual pistols before holstering them. Crosshair headed out, through the short corridor that led to the cargo hold. Hunter shut down the engines and stood, then raised an eyebrow as though surprised to find Quinlan in his path, which more or less confirmed Quinlan's misgivings.

Quinlan followed Crosshair to the hold, but his mind was still occupied with its earlier train of thought. He didn't really know many clones – he probably knew Cody the best, if one could call three or four brief conversations knowing someone – but even Cody, who seemed boringly by-the-book, had made a snide comment or two to Obi-Wan. Of course, as far as Quinlan knew, Cody always carried out orders obediently . . .

 _As far as I know._ _But all that is to say that I have no idea what to really expect from them. This mission is dangerous, and there are too many unknown factors. These guys are skilled, that's for sure, but . . . I don't like this._

By the time Quinlan finally looked up, Crosshair was lounging against the door, rifle slung over his back and helmet hanging from one hand. Hunter stood beside him while Wrecker clipped as many explosives as he could to his belt. Tech was on his knees, rummaging through a crate full of electronics.

Quinlan eyed each of them for a moment. "So. How are you going to explain the ninety-nine thing to Vythia?"  
"It's our lucky number," Wrecker said.

"That works. Armor?"

"It's custom-made," Hunter said, casting a pointed look at the significantly different armor each of them wore. "And that's – obvious, anyway."  
Quinlan shrugged at the mild tone of questioning in Hunter's voice. "Always make sure your stories match. Oh, speaking of which, your story will be that you are members of the same clan."

Again the raised eyebrow.

Quinlan gestured at him. "You might not look all that much like clones, but your eyes are very similar. Actually, they're similar to the other clones' eyes."

Tech slipped a small gadget onto his belt and looked up. "I admit I am surprised you noticed."

"Why? I'm a trained operative and I spend a lot of missions tracking disguised people. Details – 'specially features – are important."

"True," Tech allowed, hopping to his feet. "But most _clones_ we've spoken with are surprised when they're told that we're clones."

"Yeah," said Hunter. "I guess when you're used to everyone looking pretty much the same, any big difference throws you off."

Quinlan nodded. "One of Cody's troopers has blue eyes. I'm not even around clones much, and he stood out halfway across the training field . . . But, if I didn't know what clones looked like, and someone had put him in a group of other humans, his eyes wouldn't have caught my attention at all."

"So . . ." Tech removed his goggles. "You're saying that Vythia will notice the similarities, rather than the differences?"

"I'm pretty sure she'll notice both."

"And you want an explanation given before she questions us?"

"Not necessarily. It's not a good idea to explain everything, because if it looks too much like you're hiding something – which you are . . . But leaving her with too many questions is going to make her start wondering. If she asks, you'll at least have an answer ready."

Wrecker sighed noisily. "Man, how are we going to keep all this stuff in our heads?"

"I think I can remember it," offered Tech. "Still, there are a good deal of variables to account for."

"Yep." Quinlan reached for his lightsaber. "Such as this. Hunter, where are the others?"

Hunter went to the opposite side of the room and knelt to run one finger along the corner where the walls met. A small compartment in the floor opened. "Right here. Which ones do you want?"

"Wait," said Quinlan, walking over to join him. "You have a secret compartment in the floor?"  
"It comes in handy," Hunter said.

"But – why didn't we just hide the lightsabers there when Bane was here?"

"Because," said Tech, replacing his goggles. "I had no idea whether or not he'd think to look for compartments. Droids can, after all, perform simple scans that show irregularities in the ship's structure."

"Yeah, guess you're right." Quinlan set his own lightsaber in the opening and sorted through the others. Only one other had an arbiter hilt, and it was black. "Hope the blade's green. . ." He ignited it with a flash of sapphire blue. "Okay, never mind. I'll have to go with a different hilt and hope no one notices."  
"Notices – that it's different?" Hunter shook his head. "Vos, what are you doing?"

Tech lifted a finger. "Can't you put your kyber crystal into the second hilt?"

Quinlan smirked. _Guess he's been doing his research._ "No, the crystal's what I really can't have around Vythia. . . Hilt-wise, Bane _might_ have sent Vythia a description of my own lightsaber – though I doubt it. He was pretty busy trying to get back, and then to get away from you, Tech."

He ignited the next lightsaber that caught his attention. This time, a green blade extended, and he shut it off. "Defender hilt – good. I always liked these. I mean, I could put _this_ crystal in the black arbiter hilt, but the hilt would still be the wrong color."

Hunter looked at Crosshair in a sort of silent question, but the sniper merely narrowed his eyes before shifting his gaze back to Quinlan.

Tech leaned forward to study the new lightsaber as Quinlan shut the hidden compartment. "So this type of hilt is known as a defender?"

"Uh-huh." Quinlan tossed and caught it. "Nice balance, easier to perform fancy tricks with because of the narrowed end. Here, Hunter."

Hunter took it with a hesitant glance. "You're not carrying it because . . . Oh. We stole it from Grakkus. You – had nothing to do with it."

"Exactly. I want it along for three reasons: one, I'm tired of not having a lightsaber when I need it; two, Vythia's going to want to see it; three, as the leader and the guy who likes wielding knives, you'll be expected to carry it."

Hunter clipped it to his belt. "If you're sure."

Quinlan nodded, then caught Crosshair's piercing gaze. "What?"

The sniper removed a toothpick from his mouth. "What did you mean about your crystal being around Vythia?"

Tech stared intently at Quinlan, waiting for his answer.

Quinlan frowned thoughtfully. "She's got an awakened red kyber crystal. She's not a Force-sensitive, as far as I can tell, which means she shouldn't have been able to wake the crystal. . . but it _is_ awake."

Wrecker stared at him. "How can a crystal be awake?"

"Uhhh . . . kyber crystals are . . . sort of sentient," he said slowly, fiddling with his gloves. "They bond to Force-users. And I don't want to risk her being able to sense my own crystal. I just have this weird feeling that she'd be able to."

Tech, who was still watching him, hadn't blinked once. Quinlan gave him an uncertain look. "But anyway. Let's just get going – and be _careful."_

"Right," said Hunter.

Tech finally blinked. "Oh. Yes."

Crosshair opened the door, and Quinlan stepped past him, out onto the landing platform that was part of the Prince's territory. A few distant pinpricks of yellow light glimmered through the darkness, but for the most part the only illumination came from the deep blue lights that shone up from the depths.

Quinlan led the commandos to the first walkway. "Watch your step," he said over one shoulder. "Even I got a little dizzy going over, and I'm used to Coruscant."

"Dizzy?" Wrecker sounded concerned. "Uh – as in, heights?"

Quinlan glanced down at the sporadic traffic. "More like depths, actually."

"Uh-oh. That's not good. . . This isn't good. Oh, I can't – I looked!" Wrecker sounded as though he were ready to panic.

Quinlan was about to reassure him when Hunter said, "Wrecker! Keep it together, this walkway isn't that long."

 _Yeah, right – only a hundred meters or so . . ._ Quinlan half turned to glance at Wrecker, who continued to mutter feverishly under his breath. Still, the big clone kept walking and didn't seem in immediate danger of falling, so Quinlan moved forward a bit more quickly.

Once again, he was struck with the silence of this area of Nar Shaddaa. Apart from Wrecker's muttering, the clinking of their boots striking softly against the metal walkway, and the muted rushing of traffic below them, there were no other sounds. In Hutta Town, the sounds from the markets had been audible from most levels – the distant shouting of hawkers, the shrill yells of people bidding higher and higher prices, the confused murmurs of overlapping conversations . . .

Here, it was silent, but Quinlan knew they were being watched, just as he'd been last time. He stepped off the end of the walkway and stared up at the warehouse as the commandos spread out to either side of him.

"Is this the place?" said Hunter in a whisper.

"Yeah."

Crosshair shifted. "Someone's watching us."

"It's probably Dengar – can you see him?"

"On the roof."

Quinlan put his hands on his waist and looked up. "Dengar, get down here."

With a low chuckle, the man obeyed, clambering down the ridged metal walls until he could hop to the ground. "You're a bold one, Vos."

Quinlan shrugged. "No, I just don't like being watched. I take it you reported to Vythia that we've arrived."

Dengar – who had switched from Red Turban to White Turban – hummed. "She knows you're here. She's waiting. Odd group of companions you've got, Vos. Are they competent?"

Hunter, in one smooth move, stepped forward, spun around behind Dengar, and put an arm across his throat. "Are you?"

Dengar smirked, caught Hunter's wrist with one hand, and twisted to gain some distance as he drew a pistol. He'd barely gotten it free of its holster when Hunter hit him in the forearm with one knee. The gun went flying, and Crosshair snatched it languidly out of the air.

"Okay," said Dengar, lifting both hands. "I get the idea."

"They want to make a good impression," apologized Quinlan. "I mean, they don't really have a reputation yet, so getting in on this job is a little bit of a gamble."

Wrecker jostled him roughly from behind. "We took care of Grakkus, didn't we?"

"Well – according to rumor," said Quinlan, inwardly hoping that Wrecker wouldn't say too much. "But anyway. Let's not keep Vythia waiting."

"Head on in," Dengar told them, and climbed back up to his post.

Quinlan glanced in the direction of the entrance and gestured to the others, who followed silently. The door slid open quietly, revealing only blackness. The commandos split to either side, Hunter and Wrecker standing in the front.

"Guys?" said Quinlan. "We're going through the door, remember?"

"We remember," said Hunter, his voice cool. "We also know what happens when we run into situations without checking them out first."

 _Ah, Hunter is playing his part. . ._ Quinlan decided to play along. If he didn't have to do all the heavy lifting as far as pretending went, things would be much easier. "I already told you, the Prince is enemies with Grakkus. I don't think he'd have you killed for invading the Hutt's palace."

"Hm." Tech sounded unconvinced. "I am not locating any traps, Hunter."

"Okay." Hunter lowered his rifle slightly and entered the warehouse.

Quinlan moved in last. The dark sensation he'd felt upon his previous visit here was still present, but it was shadowy, not related to Vythia or her crystal. _Something else dark around here . . . great._

A faint light turned on at the computer station, and they turned to look at it, then moved slowly across the room. Vythia was nowhere in sight . . . Quinlan reached out with the Force, and recognized her presence behind them just before Crosshair spun around and raised his sniper rifle with a startled hiss.

Vythia Archane smiled, her black eyebrows lifting in amusement despite the gun pointing directly at her face. Placing one finger on the blaster's muzzle, she pushed it gently to the side. "Quinlan. Please introduce us."

"Um." Quinlan glanced at the others. "Okay. This is Vythia Archane – she's the one who'll decide whether or not you're worth hiring."

Tech looked appropriately offended, and Quinlan went on. "Vythia, these guys call themselves Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Tech."

"Code names," she said, slipping past Crosshair to stand before Hunter. "And you all hide your faces."

Hunter removed his helmet. "No, but it's easier to wear helmets than to carry them."

She studied him for a long moment, her black eyes flicking up and down. Hunter, to his credit, didn't stand at attention, but eyed her suspiciously back. Quinlan took the brief moment to observe Vythia.

She wore black, gold-trimmed bracers over the long sleeves of a knee-length black dress. The gold-banded black hilt of a curved knife hung at her side on a gleaming golden belt, as did what appeared to be a black and gold – lightsaber hilt? The skirt of her dress, decorated with two panels of heavy, gold-edged material – probably blaster-proof – hung over black leggings, which she'd tucked into black, gold-cuffed boots . . . She also wore a polished necklace of gold, as well as an intricate headdress, and thin gold bands were wrapped around two of her head-tentacles.

 _Wow. . ._ After a moment's thought, Quinlan cleverly drew the stunning conclusion that Vythia Archane was very fond of black and gold. Or maybe she just wanted her outfit to match her weapons. Who knew.

Tech, who had been staring fixedly at the gleaming red crystal in the center of her forehead, cast Quinlan a short, querying glance.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. _Yes, Tech, that's the kyber crystal. Please do not try to run a scan on it._

"So," said Vythia. "You, Hunter, are the leader of this . . ."

"Team," said Hunter.

"You carry a lightsaber. May I see it?"

Hunter narrowed his eyes, but unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and handed it to her.

She activated it, taking a step back to swing it in a fluid arc. "Green – the traditional color of the Jedi Consular. Of course, the Jedi no longer differentiate their chosen paths with the colors of their blades."

"A – Consular?" Tech piped up, eagerly interested. "Is that a class of Jedi?"

Quinlan and Crosshair shared an eyeroll at his expense.

"Mm." Vythia spoke absently as she stared into the depths of the blade. "Blue for the Guardians, green for the Consulars, yellow for the Sentinels. . ."

The green light reflecting in her black eyes reminded Quinlan strongly of how Kit's eyes looked whenever he raised his lightsaber before a spar. And yet – where Kit's eyes gleamed with their own inner light, Vythia's did not. . .

The next instant, Vythia deactivated the lightsaber, and the gleam disappeared from her eyes, which suddenly looked normal – just like any other Nautolan's eyes.

Quinlan gave his head a brief, impatient shake. _Okay, I could really do without the psychometric vision overlays._

Vythia gave the weapon back to Hunter. "You took this from Grakkus the Hutt?"

"Yeah." Hunter offered no further information.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And from Cad Bane."

"That was Tech, actually." A faint tone of pride overlaid Hunter's words, and Quinlan wondered whether it was real or pretended. Probably real, judging by the pleased little smile on Tech's face.

"Tech." She turned her full attention on him, and he removed his helmet. She stared at him. "How exactly did you manage to outsmart one of the most skilled bounty hunters in the galaxy?"

"He wasn't being cautious," Tech explained. "He thought I was unconscious when he left, but I was merely unwilling to see him get away with the lightsaber."

"Yeah," said Wrecker. "Still don't know how he knew we had one, though."

Quinlan casually studied his fingernails. Wrecker was smarter than he acted.

"I told him to see what you had gotten from Grakkus' vault," Vythia explained, coolly unapologetic. "Although – I did not specifically order him to take the lightsaber."

"Why did you want to know?" demanded Crosshair.

She smiled. "I heard from my informants that Grakkus had been robbed. Anyone who accomplishes that is skilled – skilled enough, perhaps, to hunt down artifacts."

Hunter tilted his head in Quinlan's direction. "He said something about that. We're here because we could use a job that'll get us away from Bane and Grakkus for a while, but first maybe you could tell us what exactly the job involves."

"Yes." Vythia rested one finger on her lips. "Quinlan Vos is psychometric. What are your specific skillsets?"

Hunter folded his arms. "Assassination. Infiltration. Just about anything you want."

Quinlan eyed him. _Assassinations, Hunter? Really?_

"Can you name any of your previous targets?" Vythia asked.

"Hm . . . I'm not at liberty to say. Grakkus was our most recent." Hunter flicked his gaze toward Quinlan. "Though that wasn't an assassination. We just wanted to get the Prince's attention."

With an effort, Quinlan kept his expression neutral. _Careful, Hunter – don't give away too much. . ._

"Indeed?" Vythia gestured them toward the computer. "Quinlan wanted the same thing, although his method was more direct."

"Yeah," said Quinlan. "I kind of walked up and demanded a job. Of course, if I'd realized that the Prince was keeping an eye on the whole moon, I'd have probably found myself a target like Grakkus and waited for an invite."

"We didn't know," said Hunter. "We'd heard something about the Prince on Nal Hutta, and going through the bounty agency takes forever. But Grakkus had a famous enough bounty hunter under his employ that we figured the Prince was keeping an eye on Hutta Town, anyway."

"Oh?" Vythia sat down at the desk and turned in her chair, keeping her eyes on them. "You mean the Palliduvan woman, Aurra Sing."

"Yes."

"Your method of gaining our attention was effective," she said, giving Hunter a curious look. "An unusually subtle move."

Quinlan silently released his breath as Vythia continued to stare at Hunter, but then she waved a hand, as though dismissing the topic of conversation. "You asked what this job would involve. The only answer I can give you now is that we'll be searching for ancient artifacts in places that no one has visited in hundreds of years."

"Artifacts of what kind?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe," said Hunter. "How dangerous are these – artifacts?"

"Are you a Force-sensitive?"

Hunter snorted. "Not likely."

"Then they shouldn't be dangerous for you at all."

Tech hummed. "Force-sensitive. Then I take it you're speaking of Jedi artifacts. But we could just get those from Grakkus' vault."

"No." She blinked thoughtfully. "He has Jedi belongings, yes – but artifacts are different, older, more powerful. And I want to find Sith artifacts."

"Sith . . .?" Wrecker sounded honestly confused.

"Think of them as Jedi," she replied, glancing at Quinlan. "Except that they are willing to go to the extent of their powers."

 _Okay – that's one way to put it._ Quinlan returned her look with a quizzical one of his own. "I always thought the Sith were, like, the opposites of the Jedi."

She shrugged elegantly. "That is what the Jedi say."

"Huh." Hunter didn't sound as though he cared one way or the other. "So we're going to locate artifacts – where?"

"I'll tell you that after you decide whether or not you want the job."

"Fair enough." Hunter cast a look at his squad mates. "Let me talk with my team for a minute."

She gestured, and they headed off, grouping together near the warehouse door.

Vythia gave Quinlan a shrewd look. "You had a chance to observe them on your way here. What do you think of them?"

 _Tread carefully, Vos,_ he told himself. "Well . . . they're an odd bunch, in one sense. I don't think they're just a group of bounty hunters who ended up working together. They seem to trust each other implicitly."

"Insightful."

"Actually, no – it's kind of obvious. From what I've seen, they don't need to talk much to communicate. They swap out piloting and who's standing guard without discussion. Hunter was wiring explosives in the cargo hold and Crosshair had his rifle out, and no one cared. Uh, except me. Then, right before we got here, Tech got in the way and Wrecker just sort of picked him up and moved him. I would have taken his head off, but Tech didn't even seem to notice."

She laughed. "I suppose you are right, that is rather obvious. Perhaps they have simply known each other a long time."

"Maybe – I doubt that's all, though. There's something similar about them, despite all their differences. Now." He took a step closer. "Tell me something, Vythia. Why are you talking to me like an advisor instead of a hired bounty hunter?"

She laughed softly. "Does that displease you?"

"No, but it makes me suspicious."

"As it should. But you are an observer, Quinlan, as well as psychometric. I trust your instincts about people."

"You don't even know me."

"I don't need to." She leaned back, eyeing him thoughtfully. "Earlier I said you were a mercenary like all the rest, but I think I was wrong."

"Oh? Then what am I?"

"You are someone who has undiscovered gifts."

"Everyone does."

"I think your psychometry goes deeper than you realize."

Quinlan huffed. "Wow. Do you always speak indirectly?"

"No."

"Well – then what are you talking about? I know I've got an unusually powerful level of psychometric ability, but . . ."

"Perhaps it is augmented by Force sensitivity."

Quinlan's heart started pounding, but he let out a short, surprised laugh. "Lady, if I were Force-sensitive, wouldn't I have been trained by the Jedi?"

She smirked. "You'd be surprised by how many there are in the galaxy whose sensitivity has not been discovered."

 _Okay, this conversation is getting dangerous. Hunter, make up your already made-up mind and get back here._ Quinlan pretended to think for a minute. "Well, maybe, but my being Force-sensitive? That's a little far-fetched. . . I know things because I've learned to observe details, not because something _tells_ me."

"I did not intend to insult your skills," she answered, glancing at the squad as they approached. "It was a thought only."

"Interesting one," he allowed. "Hey, if I was Force-sensitive, wouldn't I be able to see into the future, or lift things without my hands, or whatever?"

"No," she said with a wry tilt of her head. "You'd need to be trained to do that."

"Oh, dang, that would be useful. But whatever."

Hunter stopped next to Vythia, and his gaze flitted to Quinlan. "Vythia, my team and I are in, on one condition."

She swiveled to face him. "And what is that?"

"We get to use our ship."

"That is reasonable." She started typing. "Do you wish to use your code names on this mission?"

"They're all we ever use," said Hunter.

"Very well." She looked at Crosshair. "Would you and Wrecker be so kind as to remove your helmets?"

Wrecker obeyed; Crosshair, less willingly, followed his example.

Vythia studied them both for a moment. "And what are your special skills, Wrecker?"

"Oh – uh, I've got several. Mostly I take care of explosives and stuff like that."

"And you, Crosshair." Her eyes flitted from his rifle to his tattoo. "I take it that you are a sniper."

"Yes."

"Tech?"

"I usually handle the more technological aspects of any given job."

 _Job, not mission,_ Quinlan noted approvingly. _Maybe these guys won't be as much of a liability as I thought._

"And Hunter. . ."

"I'm the leader," he said with a shrug. "We've all got an assortment of skills – guess my more unique skills involve knives."

She touched the knife at her waist. "I prefer knives to guns, myself."

Hunter nodded at the other weapon she carried. "What about that? Did you also get a lightsaber from Grakkus' vault?"

"No." She stood up and moved away to stand at the very edge of the small circle of light. "This is not, strictly speaking, a lightsaber."

She pressed the activator stud on the handle, and a crackling length of energy came to life, coiling near her ankles.

"An electro-whip?" Tech asked.

"Not precisely." In one smooth motion, she flicked it, unfurling it to its full length, then deactivated it and returned it to her belt. "This is a lightwhip – an ancient and extremely rare form of a lightsaber. It is more damaging than an electro-whip, less damaging than a lightsaber, and very effective in the hands of a skilled user."

"Wow," said Quinlan blankly.

"I was fortunate to find it," she agreed. "But let us get back to you now. Will you accept payment after the job is completed, or do you require an advance?"

As Hunter waited for her to seat herself at the computer, he cast a look at Quinlan, who returned it with a grim one of his own. He'd known Vythia was dangerous, but she was good at using that lightwhip . . . no telling how good, but it was possible that she was e a match for his own skills with a lightsaber.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, all that about the colors for the Sentinels and Guardians and Consulars . . . I forget which game it was in. Most likely it was KotoR or the sequel game. My stories are probably a frightful blend of legends and canon. ;D
> 
> Oh, and the arbiter and defender hilts are from the Jedi Academy game. Defender is my favorite, but arbiter looks closest to what Quinlan Vos has in the CW series. :)


	16. Supply Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy New Year to all of you! :)
> 
> Now that the holidays are drawing to a close, I should be back to my once-a-week posting schedule.

Vythia pushed her chair back from the computer desk and stood. "That should settle everything, Hunter. Welcome to the team."

Hunter eyed her outstretched hand momentarily before taking it. "Thanks. When do we start?"

"Not for two days yet. I hadn't anticipated finding a team so quickly. There are still details that need attending to here."

"You've already hired the entire team?" cut in Vos from where he leaned against the wall. "Mind if I ask who else is in it?"

"No one, apart from those here." She narrowed her large eyes thoughtfully. "I think a team of six is reasonable. Enough that we can deal with the various traps and challenges that may arise, and yet not too many."

"Huh." Vos cast Hunter a short, sharp glance, before flicking his gaze back to Vythia. "What about Dengar and the other guy. . . Embo, you said? Are they part of a backup team?"

"No." Vythia smoothed the sides of her black dress. "I have hired them to guard the Prince's establishment while we are on Malachor."

"So," said the Jedi slowly. "That basically means we're on our own out there."

"Yes." She turned back to the computer and logged out. "Does that concern you?"

"A little, yeah. I mean, going to an uninhabited planet at an unknown location with no backup whatsoever . . ."

She cast him a curious look. "Quinlan, why the sudden worry? I thought you said you worked alone."

"Yeah, but not on jobs like this. I've never been dumb enough to explore old ruins on my own. If a temple comes down on our heads, no one will discover us until too late."

Vythia smiled and shook her head. "We will, of course, take every precaution, but the Sith built their temples to last. I think collapsing buildings will be the least of our concerns."

Hunter decided it was time to play up his bounty hunter character a bit. "Come on, Vos, you've signed on to the job and you're part of the team. Hope you're not entertaining second thoughts, 'cause you're paying for passage on our ship whether you come or not."

The Jedi rolled his eyes. "Listen, Hunter, or whatever your real name is – I don't skip out on jobs."

Before Hunter could do more than blink his surprise, Vos went on. "Vythia, you coming on the _Marauder_ with us?"

"No, I have my own ship. I will give you the coordinates for Malachor when we are ready to leave."

"Right," Hunter said, stepping back into the conversation. "You got any jobs for us before we leave?"

"Not at the moment, though it would be advisable for you to prepare your ship and purchase supplies."

"We were gonna do that anyway," Hunter replied. "Anything special we need in the way of supplies?"

Vythia's black eyes glittered with excitement, and her mouth turned upward in a faint, eager smile. "Who can say?"

Tech and Crosshair looked from each other to the Nautolan woman, then at Hunter, who shrugged.

Quinlan cleared his throat.

Vythia seemed to come back to herself abruptly, because she blinked and straightened. "I have never been to Malachor. Use your own judgment in selecting supplies and specialized equipment."

Tech lifted a finger. "That might well be a hit-or-miss situation. After all, we have little to no information about Malachor. Even its climate is listed as 'unknown'."

Wrecker jostled him. "We'll do fine, Tech," he said. "Hunter? We headed out?"

"A moment," said Vythia, unlocking a compartment beneath the computer. "You do not have funds here, do you?"

Hunter paused, uncertain of what his answer should be

Vos shook his head. "Not on this planet."

"Neither do we," said Hunter, following the Jedi's lead.

"It will take too long to transfer credits," said Vythia. "I'll give you an advance on your pay instead."

"Thanks," said Quinlan, accepting a credit chip. "These unmarked?"

She inclined her head, looking amused. "Of course. There are one thousand credits on each of these. I trust that will be enough? Or are there repairs you need to make to your ship?"

"No, this'll be fine," said Hunter. He accepted the stack of four chips and handed one to each of his squad mates. "Thanks."

"Right, well, we'll be around," said the Jedi. He headed for the door with a wave.

Wrecker stumped after him. "Speak for yourself, Vos. You're not in charge here."

"Yeah, yeah, what _ever_. . ."

Tech rolled his eyes, and Crosshair sniffed disdainfully; then the two of them followed the Jedi, leaving Hunter and Vythia standing near the computer.

Vythia raised an elegant eyebrow after the four men. "I hope I won't be short a team member before the day is out."

Hunter smirked. "I'll handle them. Has Vos worked for you before?"

She turned an interested gaze on him. "Why do you ask?"

"He's traveling with us. I mean, I don't have a problem with him – yet. We're on the same job and he's willing to pay for passage. But I'm not sure I like the sound of this psychometry."

"Justifiable." She nodded once. "Psychometry is an . . . unusual gift, at best, and he has an uncommonly high skill level. But I hired him for that very skill."

Hunter shrugged. "You're the employer."

"Yes." Vythia cast him a quick smile. "Is there anything else?"

He shook his head and replaced his helmet. "All set."

"Very well. I will speak with you soon."

Hunter strode out, trying to ignore the creeping feeling that traveled up and down his spine. The warehouse door shut behind him, and he peered up through the dark blue light cast by the city below.

Dengar had disappeared from the roof. As near as he could tell, no one was watching him, but it still . . . Hunter jerked his shoulders back to shake off the odd feeling, then joined the others, who had gathered in a small group near the walkway.

"What is it?" muttered Crosshair.

"I don't know." Hunter glanced back at the warehouse. "Something about her . . ."

"Hm," Tech agreed. "She is – odd."

"She's creepy," whispered Wrecker.

The Jedi tapped him on the arm. "Okay, let's get back to the ship before someone hears you insulting our employer."

Hunter stayed at the back of the group as they headed back to the landing pad and entered the _Marauder._ The door sealed behind him, and Hunter checked the security lock twice before moving into the hall.

Just in front of him, Vos slouched dramatically against the wall. "Right, well, that was more or less nerve-racking."

Crosshair set his gun carefully in the storage rack. "Hm."

Quinlan frowned. "You don't need to sound so critical. She's – smart."

Crosshair mirrored his position against the opposite wall. "And you're – not?"

"Am," Vos retorted, looking vaguely insulted.

Wrecker let out an irritated groan. "Guys, come _on!_ You keep arguing!"

"I wasn't arguing," Quinlan said maturely. "I was criticizing Crosshair for being so, uh, critical."

"Cut it out, both of you," said Hunter, joining them. "If I have to listen to constant bickering for the next two days, I'll lose my mind."

Quinlan raised a questioning eyebrow in Crosshair's direction, then tilted his head at Hunter. Crosshair smirked his agreement.

Hunter folded his arms. "And if you both deliberately _try_ to make me lose my mind, I swear I'll lock you in the brig."

Tech, distracted from his datapad, blinked in confusion. "We don't have a brig."

Hunter stared down at him, unfazed. "Then I'll lock Vos in the cockpit and Crosshair in the barracks."

"Good idea," grumbled Wrecker, standing between Hunter and Tech.

Quinlan thought for a moment. "You know, Hunter, I outrank you."

"And we outnumber you. In fact – Wrecker, Tech and I outnumber you and Cross."

". . . Fair point. Wait, what?"

Crosshair looked equally insulted. "How'd I end up on the same side as _him?"_

"When you agreed that annoying me would be a good idea."

Both Quinlan and Crosshair rolled their eyes, and Hunter sighed and raised an eyebrow. "Let's head to the galley."

Crosshair cast Vos a dark look as he passed.

"I definitely outrank _you_ ," Quinlan protested under his breath as he shoved himself away from the wall.

Hunter pretended he hadn't heard. As he headed aft, he caught sight of Vos checking the security lock on the outer door. The Jedi was a bit more nervous than he'd like to admit, and Hunter thought he had every reason to be. Vythia Archane – something about her was off.

He glanced down at the credit chip in his hand. "Tech, you'd better locate the nearest half-reputable market."

"I've already found it," Tech replied. "It's only four levels below this landing pad."

"Good. We'll get started as soon as –"

"Hey, Hunter?" Vos entered the galley in a whirl, his previous mood forgotten. "Any objections to filling the next couple of days with, ah, some _extracurricular_ activities?"

"That . . . depends." Hunter slipped the credit chip into a pouch on his belt. "What did you have in mind?"

Quinlan sat down next to Tech and stared thoughtfully at his fingers. "I was thinking that I'd like to investigate the Prince. He might not be the most dangerous enemy we have, but he's still the one behind the artifact hunt."

Hunter turned to regard him. "Vos – how would you do that while keeping it a secret from Vythia?"

"I don't know. Yet. But I don't want to sit around doing nothing."

Wrecker pulled off his helmet. "I thought we had to get supplies."

"We do. . ." Quinlan ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand on end, and glanced at Tech's datapad. "That the nearest market?"

"Yes."

"Good. There's not much there beyond absolute basics. We'll have to find other markets to locate the specialized equipment Vythia talked about, which means we've got a good reason to be split up."

Hunter shook his head. "Vos – slow down. What equipment do you think we'll be needing?"  
"For one thing, I need a good vibroblade – maybe two."

Crosshair flicked a toothpick across the room into the disposal unit. "With only one thousand credits?"

The Jedi smirked. "Look, I know how to function in crime cities. You'd be surprised what you can find in a place like this."

"Okay," said Hunter. "What should we be looking for, though? We're not exactly short on supplies."

"No . . . but you _are_ short on non-GAR-commissioned supplies."

"Oh!" said Tech, setting his datapad down abruptly. "I had not even considered that."

"It shouldn't matter for rations and stuff like that, but stuff marked with the Republic insignia? Bad idea."

"We'll get on that," said Hunter. "How do you want us to split up?"

"First, we'll all hit the regular market," said the Jedi. "You'll do some bartering so that I can figure out whether I can safely release you into the wilds of Nar Shaddaa."

Hunter was still wondering whether that had been an insult or not when Wrecker cracked his knuckles loudly. "You think we can't handle a few thugs?"

"It's not about that," said the Jedi, leaning forward. He looked surprisingly serious, for a change. "It's about whether you can make a purchase without being robbed blind. It's about walking through the city without everyone guessing you're soldiers. It's about not getting a target painted on your backs because you look out of place."

Hunter looked at Crosshair, expecting a sharp retort; to his surprise, the sniper was listening intently.

"I see," said Tech, putting his datapad away. "We are trained for infiltration and hostage situations, though – wouldn't this be somewhat similar?"

"A little." Vos jumped up, brushing off his tunic. "Come on, let's hit the town."

The others turned to Hunter, who shrugged, feeling slightly amused at the Jedi's knowledge of the underworld. "Okay, Vos, what are the rules?"

He stopped, studying them all for an instant. "Well, you guys walk around like you own the place – that works fine for the image we're trying to project. Biggest thing to remember is not to draw attention by looking impressed or threatened."

Since Hunter didn't feel impressed _or_ threatened by Nar Shaddaa, he figured that wouldn't be too much of a problem. "So act like this is all old news."

"Yep. All cantinas are the same, that kind of thing."

Hunter glanced at Tech. "We've – never been in a cantina."

"No kidding." Vos looked interested.

"Have you?" Crosshair asked.

"Oh, yeah. Best places to pick up intel. I mean, information. Nothing like passing out a few free drinks to get the locals' favor."

"That," said Tech, "sounds a good deal like bribery."

Quinlan hit the door control. "Yeah, it's total bribery. Works, too."

Hunter glanced at his men and gestured them out. "Well . . . odds are, we'll be sent on this kind of mission eventually. Might as well learn what we can now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's taking a long time to actually get to Malachor, but I find the groundwork of a story to be pretty important - especially as involves characters and their relationships with one another.
> 
> In other news, since it's the New Year and all, I've been working more on a couple of other Clone Wars stories: the post-Order 66 one, and a Cody and Bad Batch backstory. . . I also have an OC clone story going on, but that'll take a long time to complete, and I have a storm trooper story planned - 
> 
> You know, at some point I'd really like to write a short Clone Wars story. :D Somehow, my ideas seem to have all turned into massive stories without my prior consent. I suppose there are always more 'Misadventures', whenever I get the inspiration for those. ':D


	17. Pursued

Quinlan stepped into the rickety lift that would take them down to the market level, then paused to run his fingers over the buttons. None of them were marked. "Uhh –"

"Does this thing even work?" Hunter asked warily, joining him.

"Well, it hasn't collapsed yet. . ." Quinlan leaned closer to the buttons, trying to decipher the numbers from the tiny flakes of paint that remained. "Okay, that's a seven, I think? No . . . four?"

Tech eyed the fraying metal cable, visible through the open roof. "Maybe we should take two trips."

Wrecker stepped into the lift, and the whole thing creaked alarmingly.

". . . Maybe we should walk," Crosshair said.

Quinlan rubbed his jaw. "Which level are we even on?"

"Fifty-six," said Tech.

"Okay. So four below us would be fifty-two, but – Wow, I really can't see this."

Crosshair flipped a small rangefinder down over his helmet, then pointed to a nearly blank button.

"Are you sure?" Quinlan frowned.

Crosshair shrugged, shutting the lift's half-door behind him, and Hunter leaned over to push the button he'd indicated.

With a rattling, grinding sound, the cable started turning, and the lift jerked and shuddered its way downward.

Everyone remained still and silent, eyeing the lift and the cable with varying degrees of suspicion. Every few seconds, the cable stuck, then came free with a loud _click._

Wrecker brightened suddenly. "Hey, Tech."

"Yes?"  
  
Wrecker rocked forward on his toes, then jolted down, timing it with the next _click_ of the cable. The sudden jolt made the cable skid smoothly past the snag.

"Told you it would work," said Wrecker, apparently continuing an argument from some previous mission.

Quinlan waited until the next _click,_ then tried it himself. His weight didn't do as much against the sticking cable, but it still worked a bit. "You know, I never thought of that."

Tech glanced at the bigger clone. "Wrecker, I never said it _wouldn't_ work. I said you would break the lift if you tried."

Wrecker shrugged happily. "This one didn't break, though!"

At that moment, the lift ground to a halt.

Hunter glanced up. "Did Wrecker jinx it, or are we on the right level?"

Quinlan grabbed the top edge of the lift and hauled himself up onto his elbows. "I don't see any signs, but we look pretty far down. . . Wait, I can see the marketplace from here. Yep, I'd say we've reached our destination."

Crosshair hummed. "Then why is the door still blocked by a solid metal wall?"

Quinlan dropped back down and turned to consider the door, which, sure enough, was currently held shut by the shaft wall. It seemed the lift had stopped too soon. Quinlan mulled over Crosshair's question with pretended seriousness. "Because everything in the city is a piece of junk?"

"Granted," said Hunter, removing his helmet to study the tiny room. "Hm, we could probably climb out the top and rappel down from there."  
  
Quinlan was about to agree when Tech, with a surprising burst of motion, clipped his datapad to his belt and dodged to the opposite side of the lift. "Wrecker, don't you dare–!"

"I'll help you!" Wrecker said, his voice cheerfully loud to cover Tech's protest.

The big clone brushed between Hunter and Quinlan, caught Tech by both arms, and hoisted him up, spinning him around so that he knelt on Wrecker's shoulder.

The Jedi Knight grinned.

Tech scrambled to his feet and dealt Wrecker a hard kick in the arm. After climbing to the top of the lift, he sat on the edge, swinging his feet nonchalantly and staring down at the others. "Hunter, if Wrecker's too heavy to make it up here, we could always blow the lift wall _from the outside."_

Crosshair snickered and Wrecker lunged for him, but was brought up short by Hunter's arm. "Just get us up there, Wrecker."

Grumbling, Wrecker dropped to one knee, locking his hands together.

Quinlan used a short, Force-aided jump to get to the wall opposite Tech. Balancing precariously on the edge of the durasteel wall, he observed the surrounding blue-black darkness which stretched out around and below them.

Hunter got to the adjacent wall, and Crosshair stepped onto Wrecker's hands, reaching up for the wall opposite Hunter.

Wrecker gave him a boost that was much harder than necessary. Crosshair caught the edge anyway and twisted like a cat to land on both feet, mirroring Quinlan's position.

"We're pretty high up," said Hunter, glancing down. "Wreck, you'd better stay put until we find a way to fix this."

Quinlan eyed the cable, then hopped across the open space to Tech's side of the lift and peered at the shaft wall. "The door's only a few meters below the lift. Maybe the cable just got snagged."

"Could we cut it?" Hunter mused, then answered his own question by glancing down at the long drop. "Ah. Never mind."

Crosshair stood up and walked easily along the edge until he could reach the cable where it wrapped around the pulley. "Nothing seems to be wrong."

Quinlan wondered whether Crosshair had noticed how high up they were – if he had, he certainly didn't seem to have any concerns about it. Hunter had noticed, but didn't say anything, so Quinlan decided not to inform the sniper about the possible bad effects that usually occurred upon hitting duracrete from a height of a couple hundred meters.

Wrecker paced across the lift, then paused to tap at the outer wall. "I bet I could punch through this."

"You'd step right into thin air," replied Hunter.

Tech blinked at his datapad. "Hm, that's interesting."

"Stepping into thin air _is_ interesting, isn't it," agreed Quinlan, smirking when Tech looked perplexed. He probably hadn't been listening to the conversation at all.

Hunter gestured for Tech to go on. The shorter clone pressed something on his vambrace, and a grid of faint green light appeared over his visor. "The lift did not fail – it was simply shut down."

 _Aw, crud._ Quinlan hopped down to the floor of the lift. "I _really_ hate it when they do the old 'trap the lift' routine. Hunter?"

The sergeant looked down.

Quinlan snapped his fingers. "Gimme the lightsaber, please and thank you."

Hunter tossed him the weapon. He also rolled his eyes, or at least the motion of his head indicated an eyeroll. Quinlan couldn't tell for certain, what with the helmet and all, but he'd be willing to stake a few thousand credits on the fact. Especially since he didn't _have_ a few thousand credits. All his worldly wealth was locked away in the Jedi Temple and a few safe bases he'd set up around the galaxy.

"It's always safe to bet what you don't have," he declared.

"What?" Hunter glanced from the Jedi to Crosshair in obvious confusion.

Quinlan grinned, ignited the crackling green blade, and stabbed it into the shaft wall, just above the lift's door.

No one spoke for a telling moment, and then Crosshair broke the silence. "Who do you think stopped the lift?"

"Someone who deliberately wanted to trap us," said Quinlan, dragging the lightsaber sideways. "Or, someone who wanted to trap someone else and got us instead . . . but I don't think so. Too well-timed."

Tech hung by his fingers for a moment and dropped to the lift floor. "You think they are waiting outside."

"Maybe." Quinlan stood on his toes, trying to push his blade upward, but he was already at the top of his reach. "Ugh."

"Wouldn't it be easier to cut through the lift door and the shaft there?" Tech asked.

"Well – no, it's – thicker. Takes – longer. Ow." Quinlan stepped back, removing the blade for a moment to give his aching shoulders a rest. Maybe Tech was right. Cutting through durasteel at waist level _was_ a lot easier than cutting through durasteel that was well above head level.

"Wrecker," said Hunter. "Give him a hand."

Wrecker took the lightsaber, plunged it into the wall where Quinlan had last been working, and easily carved out a square using only one hand. "Hey, I like this weapon!"

Quinlan eyed the glowing lines. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Hunter, sounding amused, said, "It's called working with a team."

Well – he wasn't wrong. Quinlan jumped up and landed a hard kick against the cut square, which fell outwards with a _clang._

He glanced through the opening. "Walkway's fifteen feet down and _really_ narrow."

"No jumping without cables," Hunter ordered his men.

"Anyone waiting for us?" Crosshair asked.

"Nope. I'll bet they intended to catch us before we entered the lift," Quinlan said, climbing through the hole. "And when they missed their chance, their only choice was to stop the lift where we'd be trapped. They're probably on their way here now."

He eyed the ground for a moment, then released the wall, landing in the exact center of the narrow walkway. Sensing nothing immediately threatening, he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. _Hostility . . . focus . . . many minds . . ._

Quinlan looked up to see Tech already climbing out of the lift. "They're coming, but still distant enough. I can't tell how many."

Tech attached his cable and slid quickly down, kicking off the shaft wall to increase his speed. Wrecker followed, moving with surprising dexterity, then Crosshair. Hunter, who was last, detached his cable when he was only halfway to the ground, sliding the rest of the way. He landed soundlessly beside Quinlan and observed their surroundings. "Any way we can outrun them?"

The walkway extended about a hundred meters to either side of them, and a dozen alleyways branched off, heading deeper into the tangled maze of buildings and skyscrapers that was Nar Shaddaa.

"We can avoid them for now," Quinlan said. "But I don't see the point. They're hunting us down."

"Grakkus," said Crosshair.

"That's not a sentence," said Quinlan as Wrecker gave Hunter the lightsaber. "But yeah. Grakkus."

"Let's split up," said Hunter. "If they're tracking us, that should cause them to divide their forces. And if something goes wrong, it'll keep us from all getting taken out at once."

"Okay," said Quinlan. "Everyone head to the market, though. We'll need a meeting place . . . Tech?"

He nodded. "According to this map, there is a cantina called 'Rimmer's Rest' on the northern side of the market."

"Got it." Hunter tapped Tech's arm with the back of his hand. "You and Wrecker are with me."

Crosshair shot Quinlan a sideways look. "So I'm with Vos."

"Yeah." Hunter's tone indicated that this fact was non-negotiable.

Quinlan thought for a moment. "Hunter, you do know that's cruel and unusual punishment. For both of us."

"Eh, you'll get used to it." Now, Hunter sounded as though he were wearing an overbearing, smug smile under that helmet of his. "And if you don't, at least _I_ won't have to deal with it."

"Yeah, but –"

"Rendezvous in fifteen minutes," said Hunter, and headed off to the right, with Tech and Wrecker trailing after him.

_Nuts._

* * *

Crosshair stayed a few meters behind Vos as the two of them ran down another alleyway. Although the whole alley was empty, the Jedi still moved from one shadowy area to the other, utilizing every bit of cover he could. It seemed almost as though it were a habit to him, though Crosshair couldn't imagine why. Quinlan Vos didn't work in active battle zones and had no need to dodge laserfire – at least, not on a regular basis.

So far, the Jedi was acting as though he knew the way to the marketplace. He moved confidently among the many turns and twists, never hesitating once. Crosshair's own sense of direction was telling him that they were going the wrong way, but that had happened before. Hunter and Tech were much better at finding their way through places like this – even _Wrecker_ was better. Usually Crosshair didn't let it concern him, since he could depend on one of the three to maneuver through crowded or closed-in areas.

Now, he had to depend on Vos. He didn't mistrust the Jedi, exactly, but . . . _I don't trust him, either._

Crosshair wasn't sure what to think about that. Vos had already accomplished the first mission objective and gotten Bad Batch hired by Vythia . . . and he _had_ saved Hunter from Grakkus; then again, the Jedi could have saved Hunter because he needed him in order to complete his own mission.

 _But Vos could have saved him without risking his own life,_ his mind told him. _He could have pulled him out with the Force, and instead –_

Instead, Quinlan Vos had jumped between Hunter and Grakkus, thus doing the exact same thing that Crosshair had done before getting thrown into the wall. Crosshair slipped beneath a narrow archway, frowning at the very thought.

Without warning, Vos swung around, hazel eyes gleaming weirdly in the blue light from the level above.

Crosshair hesitated, glancing in both directions. He couldn't see anyone. Was the Jedi _sensing_ something, or was he waiting for the enemy – or both?

Quinlan eyed him sharply. "We've got four men coming in from each end. You take the guys on that side."

Crosshair knelt, lifting his rifle to one shoulder. "Not gonna be a problem."

"If you say so . . ."

Crosshair looked back at him "Do you intend to fight the enemy at close quarters with only a knife?"

"Why shouldn't I? Hunter does."

"You're not Hunter." Crosshair adjusted his scope.

"Nope. I'm a Jedi Knight with amazing abilities."

"Which is why I had to save you from those assassin droids."

Quinlan had the effrontery to look mildly surprised. "Hey, I thought that was a misfire on your part."

Crosshair snorted. "I don't miss shots."

"Everyone does."

"I don't."

"Never?"

"Not once."

The Jedi appeared to be considering something for a moment. "My Jedi senses tell me that's why your name is Crosshair."

"Do you always talk this much, or –" Something rustled, and Crosshair broke off, watching a flicker of movement at the far end of the alley. "Any civilians nearby?"

"In the houses." Quinlan's tone was suddenly quiet and serious. "None entering this street, though."

"Good." Crosshair fired, and the black-clothed man dropped soundlessly.

Utter silence fell. Crosshair realized that he'd been listening all along to faint, barely recognizable sounds from the surrounding buildings, but now everything seemed to have frozen, as though the city were holding its breath.

"We'll have to break out one end or the other," said Vos.

"We can outlast them," Crosshair replied. He was a sniper. He had mastered the skill of lying motionless for hours on end, waiting for his target to make a move, without losing his own focus or becoming weary.

"No." The Jedi looked up. "We've got more coming from above."

Crosshair got to his feet, still watching the alley's entrance. "Which way?"

Vos didn't answer, and Crosshair half-turned. The Jedi had one hand on the building wall, and his eyes were shut as though he were listening for a distant sound.

Crosshair hesitated, then put his back to the opposite wall, trying to keep an eye on both ends of the alley.

Another movement – someone was reaching into the alley. Crosshair twitched his rifle to the side and fired. He hit his target, but the grenade had already been thrown.

The flashbang went off with a burst of white, clinging sparks. Crosshair staggered back with a cry, one arm jerking up automatically to shield his searing eyes, but it was too late. His vision had been adjusted to the dark – sudden exposure to daylight would have been bad enough. The flashbang, with its concentrated force of stunning light, had completely overwhelmed him.

He forced his eyes open, knowing that it was pointless. He was utterly blind – that would last for perhaps twenty seconds, but the attackers had already rushed the alleyway.

The Jedi hadn't said a word. Maybe he was unconscious.

Crosshair snarled, lifted his rifle, and fired towards the approaching footsteps. His lasers hit two different attackers before they reached him. Someone snatched his rifle at either end and twisted it from his grasp. Crosshair caught the man's arm and broke it with a violent motion.

The rifle clattered to the ground. Crosshair whipped out his pistol, to no avail. Hands grabbed at his elbows, his shoulders – someone wrenched his arm back and pulled away the pistol –

Then there was a rush of movement, the sound of a knife striking flesh. Crosshair knew, inexplicably, that Vos had entered the battle even before the clutching hands abruptly released him.

The last flickers of light faded from his vision, and Crosshair blinked, reaching for his rifle. Ten feet from him, Quinlan Vos stood at bay, knife in one hand and pistol in the other, surrounded by six humans. Directly above Vos, other attackers were climbing down on cables – two humans, and an enormous, black-clothed Besalisk, who descended towards the unsuspecting Jedi like a giant spider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, Hunter's POV is way easier to write than Crosshair's or Tech's. :)
> 
> In the episode 'On the Wings of Keeradaks', Crosshair loses his balance and falls off the pipe; but in the original story reel (currently on Youtube), there's a flash of lightning which makes Crosshair jerk back and raise an arm, and then he loses his balance and falls. I thought it was strange they didn't keep that shot in the episode, because it didn't make sense that he'd fall for no reason.
> 
> Anyway . . . I figure he's more sensitive to light than others, which is why the flashbang affects him so badly.


	18. The Market

Hunter and his two squad mates had been walking along for several minutes when Tech slowed to an abrupt halt, staring at the tiny screen in his vambrace.

Hunter turned back. "Tech! Come on."

Tech blinked at the screen and frowned as though Hunter had never spoken.

Wrecker sighed loudly.

Hunter had two options: wait patiently, or push Tech along. Since there was nothing particularly dangerous in sight, Hunter opted to wait patiently. For all he knew, it could be something serious. Or . . . well, it could be something as simple as Tech suddenly realizing he'd forgotten to finish some upgrade on the _Marauder's_ computer.

When Tech looked up at him, though, his eyes were fully focused. "We're still being followed, but they seem to have split up. Ten have disappeared – I suspect they are following the others. Currently, there are eight biosignatures approaching from the east, four hundred and thirty meters away."

"Eight?" Wrecker laughed. "That's all? I can take them on with one hand!"

"You _can't,_ " Hunter admonished him. "Now let's get moving. Tech, any word from the other two?"

"No, but . . . Hunter, they've disappeared from my scanner!"

Hunter hesitated, glancing down the long road – honestly, it was more of a wide alleyway – that they'd just entered. In a place as crowded as this, Tech would track his teammates via transmission signatures rather than biosignatures. If the transmission signatures weren't appearing, it probably meant that Crosshair and Vos had just entered an area with heavy interference. More than that, it was likely. The only other reason they'd have disappeared would be if their comlinks were crushed, and Hunter couldn't imagine that happening without some sort of alarm.

"Don't worry," he said, moving forward again. "They'd have called for help if something was wrong."

"Yeah." Wrecker sounded skeptical. "Except that Vos is used to working alone."

Hunter skirted around a towering heap of rags. "So he says."

Tech bounded up to join him, walking almost sideways to keep his gaze on Hunter, as though the sergeant weren't wearing his helmet. "You think he is lying?"

"No. Besides, his mission records show that he works alone. But . . . Hm. Remember that informant we picked up?"

Tech tripped on a piece of metal, caught his balance, and said, "The Arconan?"

"Yeah." Hunter checked the alley behind them. "We saved his life – how many times? – and he still acted completely paranoid."

"He was weird," Wrecker cut in. "It was like he thought _we_ were going to kill him."

Tech rolled his eyes. "Hunter just said that."

"No he didn't!"

"Well, he most certainly indicated – Wait. Hunter, they're closing in. They'll reach us in approximately thirty-four seconds."

 _'Approximately' thirty-four. . .?_ Hunter smirked. _Guess I should be thankful he didn't give me the time in decimals._

He slipped his knife free from its sheath. "Let's get 'em off our backs. Get to cover."

Tech moved dutifully into a nearby doorway, but his mind was still focused on the previous thread of conversation. "I think I understand what you're saying. Quinlan Vos is too trusting for someone who's always worked entirely alone."

Hunter shrugged, watching as a man slipped into view. Apparently, the man thought he was being stealthy, but Hunter had heard him well before he caught sight of him.

The attackers certainly were taking their time.

"I don't know, Tech," Hunter said, idly spinning his knife around one hand. "Maybe being trusting is just a Jedi thing."

He smirked at the thought of what Vos would say if he ever heard that Tech thought he was trusting.

The foremost enemy hesitated, twenty meters away – _huh, they finally saw us –_ and Hunter raised his knife for a throw. "Then again, Vos is plenty suspicious when it comes to the enemy."

"Means he's not an idiot, anyway," Wrecker said. "Aw, this is taking too long." He stepped forward, drew a deep breath, and roared, "HEY!"

As one, their enemies froze, staring at the commandos. Then, with a sudden movement, one man armed and flung a grenade.

Hunter didn't stop to think. He rushed forward and jumped, catching the grenade in mid-air, then hurled it back. The thermal erupted in an incinerating blaze just in front of the enemy, and the pile of rags burst into sudden flame.

 _Those complete_ idiots _, using a thermal in a populated area . . . !_

But Hunter needn't have worried about the buildings. The walls were solid metal and duracrete, and there were no windows. The alleyway, though –

The alleyway was full of debris, which the fire eagerly devoured.

Someone rushed at Wrecker, firing repeatedly. Wrecker caught the lasers on his vambraces, picked the man up, and flung him back into the group.

Tech slipped beneath another man's strike and shouted, "We may want to retreat!"

As the heat of the rapidly growing fire mixed with the cool air, a dry wind rose in the narrow alley, fanning the flames even faster. Hunter killed the man attacking Tech as the shorter commando focused on an attacker behind Hunter.

A Twi'lek yelled as his clothes caught on fire. The flames flickered up towards his ammo belt and the grenades on it. Instead of putting out the fire, the Twi'lek panicked, rushing away from the blaze and towards the commandos.

The heat of the encroaching flames clashed with the ice in Hunter's stomach. He shot the man in the head, stopping his approach. "Leave it, Tech!" he shouted, turning to run. "Wrecker! MOVE!"

The commandos had run only a few meters when the grenades went off.

A concussive wave hit the three of them, flinging them down the alley, and Hunter slammed painfully against a wall. He stumbled upright, dragging Tech to his feet as the fire grew fiercer and hotter. The surviving enemies had been caught in the blast, and the explosives they'd carried now fed the inferno.

A large hand closed around Hunter's arm and shoved him into a narrow, almost tunnel-like corridor that he hadn't noticed.

"Safe in here," Wrecker announced.

Hunter skidded to a halt a short distance in and looked back, still gripping Tech's wrist. The mouth of the tunnel was illuminated by a flickering red. "We've got to keep this thing from spreading."

"I don't see how we can," Tech said, tugging against Hunter's grip.

Hunter absentmindedly released him. "Why not?"

"For one thing, it would require clearing the entrance of each alley all the way back along that street."

Hunter hissed between his teeth. "Then what can we do?"

Wrecker shrugged. "Don't think we need to do anything. It's burning out. All the trash and stuff was in the biggest alley."

Hunter glanced down at the duracrete. The narrow alley was, indeed, clear of debris.

"Oh," Tech said for him.

Hunter shook his head. There were definitely times when Wrecker was more observant than he or Tech. "Lucky for us."

"Hardly," Tech said. "Now that I think about it, I expect the narrow alleyways are kept clear for exactly this purpose. It doesn't much matter if everything in one street burns, since the houses are immune to the effects of fire, but it would be troublesome if the fire were to spread to the entire city."

He adjusted his goggles and looked up at Hunter. "It's a simple, yet effective, prevention system. It is also quite possible that they periodically set fires in the larger streets, thus using it for a trash disposal system as well."

Hunter sheathed his knife and did his best to appear interested.

"Yeah." Wrecker said dubiously. "But the city looks like a dump."

"I didn't say it was a _good_ idea," Tech said.

Hunter hoped this 'prevention system' was citywide. Otherwise, Quinlan Vos and Crosshair might be in a lot of trouble. He tried to contact Crosshair, then the Jedi, but received no answer. For an instant, he thought of going to look for them . . . but wandering the streets with no idea of which way they'd gone would be pointless.

Besides – Crosshair was used to working solo against overwhelming numbers, and this time he had Quinlan with him.

Of course, Hunter still wasn't sure whether that was a help or a hindrance. He checked the rapidly dwindling fire. "All right," he said. "We'll wait a minute more, then head to the Rimmer's Rest."

* * *

Quinlan moved slowly backwards, trying to get his back to a wall while still keeping the attention of the surrounding enemies. They were hanging back, unwilling to attack at the moment – which, in Quinlan's experience, meant that they were either waiting for reinforcements or simply thought he was an extremely dangerous adversary.

Across the alleyway, and safely outside the ring of people, Crosshair got to his feet, catching himself against the wall with one hand. Quinlan hadn't seen quite what had happened in that initial rush after the grenade went off, but it didn't look like the sniper was badly injured.

A Gran got too close, and Quinlan slashed out with his knife, catching him across the arm. When the alien stumbled back, Quinlan ducked past him, reached the wall, and spun to face his enemies.

Crosshair picked up his rifle and looked at Quinlan, then above him; then he whipped his rifle into firing position and shot twice.

Quinlan had barely sensed two deaths in the Force when a deep voice above him shouted, "Attack, NOW!"

Quinlan channeled Force energy into his perception until everything around him seemed to slow, then launched into an attack. He brought down one Twi'lek with a quick thrust to the ribs, shot another in the leg, dropped beneath a human's club and hit the ground, catching himself on one elbow. Reaching up as the human turned, he sliced through the ligaments at the back of his knee, and the man crumpled with a cry.

 _This is why I like working alone,_ he thought, internally wincing at the pain all around him. _I can just escape instead of having to fight my way through people to save other people –_

A club crashed down on his shoulder, and he crumpled to one knee, dropping his pistol. He jumped up and back, slipped beneath another blow, and struck out at a nearby attacker. He was getting overwhelmed. Maybe he should use the Force, even though he was supposed to be undercover –

A second blow slammed into his side. He fell, and two people reached down, grabbing at his arms. He couldn't see where Crosshair had gotten to. Calling on the Force, he threw his attackers back with a powerful blow, then rolled to his feet. "Crosshair!"

The sniper didn't answer.

Quinlan spun in alarm, then realized that he'd accidentally caught Crosshair in his Force-push. "Oops . . ."

He could sense the sniper's mind, though, so he hadn't knocked him out. Small blessings, he supposed.

A Gran got up and lunged at him. Quinlan landed a solid punch directly beneath his three eyes. "We've got to get out of here!"

As Crosshair pushed himself to his feet, he shot the last standing enemy in the leg, then glanced swiftly around. "The Besalisk – !"

Quinlan checked the unconscious and dead enemies that surrounded him. "Uh, wait, what Besalisk?"

A huge shape stood slowly, towering over the unaware clone, and Quinlan sprinted forward. "Look out!"

The sniper spun, raising his rifle sideways to block the first blow. The Besalisk closed his top pair of hands over Crosshair's shoulders and shoved him to his knees, then sent one lower fist crashing into his stomach. Crosshair doubled over.

Quinlan reversed his knife, leaped into the air, and slammed both feet into the alien's face. One hand caught his ankle, flinging him towards the wall. Quinlan jerked his knees up, switching direction mid-flight, hit the wall with both feet, and tackled the Besalisk around the waist with all his strength.

The Besalisk took a single step forward.

Quinlan lost his grip and tumbled to the ground.

Crosshair went from motionless to a blur in an instant, swinging his rifle across the alien's ankles, then vaulted to his feet without using his hands.

The Besalisk staggered, and Quinlan helped him on his way with a Force-assisted punch to the knee, then followed up with a backwards slash. He misjudged, though – the knife left a long cut, but didn't damage the ligaments.

Crosshair stepped back, lining up a shot.

The Besalisk seemed to realize he was outmatched. He caught Quinlan by an arm and hurled him headlong into Crosshair, then jumped up to catch on to a thick cable, which retracted rapidly.

Crosshair shoved at Quinlan, who rolled off him and lay flat on his back, watching as the Besalisk gained the rooftop and disappeared.

The alleyway fell silent, except for Crosshair's rapid breathing and a few faint groans from their enemies.

Quinlan took a moment to ensure that none of those enemies were inclined to make any further attacks, then turned his head to glance at Crosshair. "You alive?"

Crosshair's helmet turned toward him, then back up at the black sky.

Quinlan snorted.

After a nice, long, peaceful thirty-second rest, he sat up with a groan. "Okay, sniper guy, we've got to make tracks."

Crosshair rolled onto his side, then pushed himself sideways to get to his knees before carefully standing. He finally seemed to catch onto what the Jedi had said, because he performed a very slight double-take, then glanced at Quinlan. "Sniper guy?"

"Well – yeah. Unless you want me to call you toothpick."

Crosshair's posture showed exactly how unimpressed he was by Quinlan's choice of names.

"You have another concussion grenade?" Quinlan asked loudly.

Before the sniper could do more than look questioning, Quinlan reached towards him and said, "Thanks. Wait here."

Instantly, he turned and walked to the center of the group of enemies, crouched, ran back, caught Crosshair's elbow, and pulled him a few meters away.

Crosshair resisted. "What are you –"

"Quiet a sec." Quinlan shut his eyes and sent a powerful sleep suggestion to all the still-living thugs. "Okay, you can talk now."

"I don't have any concussion grenades."

"I wanted them to think we did." Quinlan rotated his shoulder gingerly, hoping it wasn't broken – Ow, nope, not broken. He'd have some severe bruising there for a few days, though. His ribs didn't feel broken either. Well, they _felt_ broken, but he probably had only a couple cracked ones, since nothing seemed to be shifting around in his chest.

He walked back through the group of sleeping and dead aliens, stepping over a Twi'lek here and a Gran there, and headed for the end of the alley with Crosshair beside him. "I needed those thugs to have an explanation for my Force-push that . . . well, didn't involve the Force. A concussion grenade fits with what they experienced."

Crosshair sniffed, his voice sounding odd when he answered. "You got a little carried away with that."

"Yeah – sorry." Quinlan reached up with his uninjured arm and rubbed at his head. "I kinda . . . forgot?"

Crosshair didn't reply. Quinlan was just about to comment on his lack of response when the sniper suddenly removed his helmet and turned to the side, spitting blood.

Quinlan gave him a sharp look, then relaxed. "Your nose isn't broken," he diagnosed. "But it's bleeding."

"I _know_ that," Crosshair hissed, rolling his eyes.

"It probably happened when you got whacked by the Besalisk," Quinlan went on, turning into the next alley.

Crosshair jerked a piece of gauze from one of the many pouches on his belt, then held it against his nose. "No. It happened when the Besalisk threw you into me."

Quinlan eyed him. "You serious?"

He nodded.

"Huh. Obi-Wan always said my head was hard, but . . ."

"Don't give yourself too much credit," Crosshair snipped. "It was my helmet."

"Whatever makes you feel better. Hey – look, there's the market."

They stopped at the end of the alley, gazing out into the open square. Quinlan pointed. "There's the Rimmer's Rest. And there's Hunter. I'll bet he's scaring away the passers-by with that death glare of his."

Crosshair observed the distant figures of his squad for a moment. "He's talking to Tech," he said. "And he has his helmet on."

". . . Oh."

* * *

"They're late," Tech said for the third time.

"Yeah," Hunter said. For the third time. "Why don't you try locating their transmission signatures again?"

Tech nodded solemnly and tapped away at his datapad.

"Anything, Wrecker?" Hunter asked into his comlink.

_"Nope. Cantina looks clear. I'm on my way back."_

"Okay, good."

"Hunter!" said Tech. "I found – oh."

Hunter had just turned to look at him when a hand landed on his shoulder. He swung around, and only managed to stop his punch when it was halfway to Vos' face.

Vos smirked casually.

Hunter let his hand fall at his side. "Don't sneak up like that."

"Good to see you, too." The Jedi glanced up at the sign above the cantina. "Sorry we're late. Ran into a bit of trouble."

"I can see that." Hunter quirked a questioning eyebrow at Crosshair. "You okay?"

Crosshair let out an annoyed sigh, then replied with the retort he and Hunter often used. "Am I standing?"

Tech looked up in annoyance. "That is _not_ the definition of 'okay'. Even Commander Cody says it isn't."

Quinlan Vos looked interested. " _Even_ Cody says it isn't? I knew it. He's nuts."

"Yeah . . . ?" said Hunter slowly. "I thought everyone knew that."

Wrecker stumped around the corner to join them as Vos grinned and said, "Well, Obi-Wan didn't believe me when I told him I saw Cody punch a droid in the face."

Wrecker laughed. "Why not? Cody _loves_ punching droids!"

"Yeah, he does it all the time," Hunter said dismissively. He glanced across the open square at a couple of Bith. "Are we headed in? We're starting to draw attention."

Vos checked his chronometer. "It's not really rush hour yet."

Hunter glanced at Tech. "Rush hour?"

Tech shrugged.

"Busiest time of day for cantinas," Vos filled in. "So, let's start by gathering supplies like we originally intended. You guys get ambushed?"

"Briefly," said Tech. 'However, there was a bit of a mishap with a grenade. . ."

"Oh, one of _those_."

They headed to the nearest market stall while the Jedi briefly filled Hunter in with the details of the attack.

"So that Besalisk's still running around loose," Hunter mused. "We'll have to keep an eye out for him."

"No kidding." Quinlan stopped in front of the stall and nodded to the female Weequay who ran it. "Hey. What've you got in the way of vibroblades?"

She eyed the five men briefly. "How much money you have?"

The Jedi leaned a hand against the counter. "That depends on how good your merchandise is."

She handed him one.

Vos set it down immediately. "This one's worth ten creds at most."

Hunter eyed it curiously. It wasn't that bad a vibroblade, actually – nowhere near as good as his own, but serviceable. And no vibroblade was worth ten credits. They were too hard to make.

He hoped the Jedi knew what he was doing.

The Weequay female drew out a locked box and opened it. "This one more to your liking, Kiffar?"

"Better," he said reluctantly. "It'll do, in a pinch . . . _if_ that's the best you've got."

"Best I've got," she replied. "Five hundred."

That sounded about right, actually, for the quality Hunter was looking at – it was much better than Vos' current knife. He was surprised she wasn't charging more.

"Two hundred," said the Jedi. "And that's a generous offer."

She met his gaze. "Four fifty."

"Two twenty."

"Four hundred."

He hesitated for a long instant. "Two thirty."

"Three fifty."

"Two thirty."

She shrugged and closed the box.

He shrugged back and turned away.

Hunter was beyond confused by this point, so he waited. The Jedi took a few steps in the opposite direction.

"Wait," the woman said. "Two fifty. Final offer."

Quinlan looked incredibly reluctant for a moment, but then he pulled out his credit chip. "Okay. You got solid cash?"

She eyed the chip. "Yeah. I can do that."

It took only a few minutes for her to hand him change in the form of gold credit chips, and then they were turning away.

Halfway to the next stall, Hunter finally said, "Vos, why all the bartering? That knife is well worth what she's asking, and it's not like we don't have the mon –" Vos spun to face him, and Hunter broke off in surprise. "What is it?"

The Jedi glanced around, then back at the commandos. "Listen, guys. In case you haven't noticed, we are in one of the _biggest_ crime centers in the known galaxy. People get murdered for fifty credits, let alone thousands."

Hunter considered for a moment. "Right. So – don't mention credits. But what about that Weequay woman?"

"She has no motive to point us out. She just got a huge amount of money on a small, easily portable credit chip. If she values her business and her life, she'll keep her mouth shut about it."

Hunter nodded. "I see."

"No you don't," Quinlan said happily. "But you will."

Hunter eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're going to do the bartering once we get back to the landing platform. There's a warehouse there specifically for servicing ships and loading them with cargo, fuel, food, water – whatever. The guys running it live by their reputation, so I'm not too concerned about their double-crossing us. If you make a few mistakes, no big deal."

". . . Thanks," said Hunter.

The Jedi smirked at him.

Tech looked up questioningly. "If we are purchasing most of our supplies up there, then why are we down here?"

"Because you can only get the really good stuff down here. And we need to hang around the cantina for a bit, pick up info about the Prince. . ."

"That sounds boring," Wrecker said.

"Sometimes it is." Quinlan paused to study the a nearby market stall. "And to answer your question, Hunter – that woman would never have been willing to part with the knife for half-price if she hadn't gotten it for almost nothing. In fact, she's probably making a killing on it. Money works differently here than it does most other places."

Hunter shook his head slightly. "I thought you said you'd never been here before."

"Hey. You've seen one crime planet, you've seen 'em all. Well – except that Nar Shaddaa's a lot more dangerous than even the low levels of Coruscant." The Jedi cut off his lecture in favor of observing a small group of people across the plaza.

Hunter followed his gaze. A Twi'lek and two humans stood against one wall, talking casually. Nearby, an Ithorian accepted some money from a vendor, then wandered toward the alley.

The Jedi flinched.

Hunter eyed him curiously, then glanced back.

The Twi'lek stepped forward and said something to the Ithorian, who paused in confusion. While he was distracted, the two humans attacked, striking the Ithorian from either side as he backed away, cowering from their blows.

Quinlan turned away abruptly. "Come on."

Hunter stayed where he was, watching as the Ithorian dropped to the ground and the Twi'lek stole the money he'd just gotten. When the three bandits had run off, the Ithorian got up slowly and limped across the plaza, headed for the Rimmer's Rest.

Tech's eyes narrowed in outrage. "Why didn't we help?" he whispered.

The Jedi dragged a hand down his face and turned to regard him, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Because helping means involving yourself. Involving yourself means you're now a target. Being a target means the job doesn't get done."

"That doesn't make sense," grumbled Wrecker. "Why would helping make us a target?"

The Jedi stared at him for a moment. "What don't you get about this place? We're being watched, constantly. Right now there are at least a dozen people watching us, trying to figure out what we're doing here, who we are, how much we're worth, whether there's a bounty on our heads. . ."

He trailed off. "Let's get going."

Hunter glanced at Crosshair, who gestured ever so slightly to their right. As the four commandos trailed after Vos, Hunter turned a bit. Sure enough, there were several civilians watching them.

Hunter felt his shoulders tense. He wasn't used to civilians being the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are definite downsides to being a Jedi Investigator. . . 
> 
> Hope you all have a good week! :)


	19. Rimmer's Rest

Hunter stood beside Wrecker as the Jedi bartered with a male Twi'lek. Tech had wandered a short distance away and was working on his datapad, seeming completely oblivious to his surroundings. . . which was pretty much normal when he was working on something. Hunter made a mental note to keep Tech in sight at all times while on Nar Shaddaa. Judging by what he'd seen, Tech was the kind of person who'd get slugged over the head and robbed within seconds.

At the moment, though, he was safe enough, because Crosshair stood beside him, arms folded as he gazed over the crowd, looking generally menacing behind his helmet.

Hunter turned to check the market behind them. This was not at all like that small spaceport the Bad Batch had visited on Nal Hutta. There, people had wandered about the streets during the day, not seeming in any particular hurry. Here – no one was wandering.

He rested a hand on his knife-hilt, observing the citizens more carefully. They all seemed to have some definite purpose in mind – everyone was either walking hurriedly towards or away from various booths and stalls. Most of the civilians seemed to have a clear destination planned – no one paused to glance at other vendors' wares; no one even acknowledged anyone nearby unless they were dealing directly with that person. The instant their business was concluded, each person would turn away, checking his or her surroundings first before leaving the market as quickly as possible.

Hunter stepped away from Wrecker as he continued to observe the action. The civilians were acting as though they were in constant fear of danger, and yet there was no visible threat. Even the market vendors, who seemed comparatively relaxed, kept a constant watch on their surroundings; however, their alertness was habitual, rather than strained.

Nearby, at the edge of the plaza, a human woman in a frilled dress sauntered out of a building and leaned against the wall. Her nonchalant attitude caught Hunter's attention, and he glanced curiously at her. She seemed to realize he was watching, because she returned his gaze despite his helmet. Putting a hand on her hip, she eyed him for a moment, as though waiting for him to make a move.

Hunter had no idea what she wanted, but something about her bold gaze made him uncomfortable. He looked away for an instant to check on his squad, and when he looked back, the woman was wandering across the square, occasionally pausing to speak with various men.

Hunter wondered whether she realized she was drawing attention, and whether she was in danger because of this. She was acting completely unlike everyone else. . .

"Hunter?"

"Yeah." He turned to see the Jedi standing beside him. "You finished?"

"Got another vibroblade. What's got you so interested?"

"The civilians." Hunter looked back over the plaza. "They act like they're in enemy territory."

"Yep." Quinlan slipped a new vibroblade from its sheath and examined it. "Notice anyone watching you?"

"Two of the vendors."

He started to lift his hand, and Vos said, "Uh, don't point them out. I can see 'em, I just wondered if you had. Anyone else?"

"Just that woman," finished Hunter, folding his arms. "But she wasn't being subtle about it. Look – it's like she wants to stand out."

The Jedi followed his gaze, looking from the woman to Hunter and back. "Yeah, she's trying to get attention," he said, as though it should be obvious.

"Why?" Hunter accepted the vibroblade from the Jedi and glanced at it. "I thought that was a bad idea around here."

For some reason, the Jedi clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "Oh, come on. I am _not_ explaining this."

Hunter raised an eyebrow at his weird behavior and handed the knife back.

Muttering under his breath, the Jedi slid the sheath onto his belt, rolled his eyes, then jerked his chin at the distant figure of the woman. "She's a streetwalker."

Hunter blinked _. . . . Oh._

"Oh," he said aloud.

"Yeah." Looking relieved that he didn't have to say anything further, Quinlan gestured to the others. "Hey, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, come on. You guys need disguises."

"What?" said Wrecker.

"Disguises. Clothes that don't stand out like that armor."

Tech put away his datapad. "Didn't you say we'd fit in because we look like bounty hunters?"

The Jedi nodded, his gaze constantly flitting between the commandos and their surroundings. "We shouldn't stand here. Let's get moving."

Hunter motioned for Tech to follow the Jedi, then fell back to guard position. He was becoming increasingly aware of the attention his squad was drawing. Perhaps it was because there were five people in a single group – most people here were alone.

"Don't turn around . . ." Vos began.

Hunter tensed and reached for his knife.

"Oh, man," grumbled Wrecker. "Now I _want_ to turn around."

"Okay, yeah," the Jedi apologized. "Guess that was kind of a bad way to start. Did any of you see those guys at the north end of the market just now?"

"The ones in black?" Crosshair said.

"Yeah." The Jedi glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, why didn't you mention them?"

"We weren't their target."

"How'd you know?"

"They didn't look at us."

"Huh." Quinlan paused at a crossroads and turned left.

Hunter wondered if he'd memorized a map before coming down here. "The men who attacked us were dressed in black."

"They were bounty hunters," said Vos.

Tech gave a confused hum. "I'm not entirely sure I understand. What is so unusual about that?"

Instead of answering, the Jedi froze briefly, then stepped towards the blank wall of a huge building. "Look."

The commandos obeyed. Six men in black clothes were running towards them. As they moved, the few people on the road nearby scattered to either side.

Wrecker took a quick step forward, but Hunter caught his arm. "Wrecker – they're not after us."

The men hurried past. Only the leader cast a short glance in their direction, but seemed to dismiss them as unimportant to his mission. A few seconds later, they had disappeared into the depths of another alley.

"Those weren't the same ones," Crosshair commented.

Vos set off again at an increased pace, and Tech blinked after him for an instant.

"Hurry," said Quinlan over his shoulder. "We've got to finish this and get back to the Rimmer's Rest before the place is too packed to move."

_Would it kill Vos to explain himself once in a while?_ Hunter caught up with him in a few swift strides. "Vos. . . would you explain about the bounty hunters?"

"Right. Sorry. So, we've seen four groups of guys wearing black. The two that went after us, and two others. And I haven't seen any of the citizens wearing _anything_ black."

Hunter considered. He hadn't actually observed that last point. "So?"

" _So,_ if I'm right, there's some sort of code here. Other places have gangs with their own insignia, emblems – whatever. Kind of like you guys with your skull, actually."

"Yes," Tech said from behind them. "But _we_ aren't a gang."

"Point is, in places with gangs, insignias stand for something. They're pretty useful at times."

"How?" asked Wrecker.

Quinlan kicked a crushed metal can and sent it skittering along the walkway. "Crime lord caught me once. I escaped from his prison, took one of his badges, and used it to get off the planet – and to disrupt a few of his operations. None of the civilians wanted to say 'no' to me."

"Hm," said Hunter. "And you think the black clothes are a similar type of code?"

Quinlan stopped next to a wide metal door. "Exactly. I think wearing black is a sign you're on a job, and everyone has to get out of your way – also, it shows that you're under the protection of some local power, so people better not interfere."

"Whereas the armor . . ."

"Makes you an unknown threat, but also up for hire, free for attack – whatever."

"Okay." Hunter eyed the door. "If that's the case, wouldn't the civilians start wearing black, just for the protection?"

"That's the thing. Those pirates were all in groups." The Jedi opened the door and stepped into a dimly lit room. "And did you see any civilians with someone else today?"

"No," said Hunter in sudden realization. "They were all alone."

A Nautolan male with wrinkled blue skin got to his feet, his hand already on the gun he wore at his side. "You here to buy or to rob me?"

"Buy," said Quinlan. "This was marked as a good place."

"Yes." The Nautolan eyed them, then released his weapon. "You're off-worlders."

Vos gave him a friendly smile. "Is it really that obvious?"

The man sank back into his chair. "You're walking targets."

Crosshair looked at Hunter, who shrugged.

Quinlan gestured between himself and the clones. "You got anything black?"

"I thought you said you were _new_ to the planet," the Nautolan said, then pointed at a nearby door. "It doesn't matter, though. Black costs extra. Help yourself."

They entered the second room, which was full of shelves, and Vos closed the door behind them.

Hunter said, "That Nautolan . . ."

"Don't worry, he's one of the 'safe' ones," Quinlan explained, eyeing a variety of clothes that hung from a closet pole. "He's been in business for some years. You don't get that here unless you're scrupulously fair. But don't be fooled by the feeble old man act. I'll bet he's got this whole place rigged with traps."

"Right . . ." Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Everyone's an enemy, huh?"

"Until proven otherwise," agreed the Jedi. "What, you don't think that?"

"We're usually given a target," said Hunter. "And we watch out for guards or surprise attacks when in enemy territory. But acting like _everyone's_ an enemy . . . Well. Seems like that would get complicated pretty quickly."

"Yeah, it's complicated," said Vos. He stared at a shelf for a moment, then snatched several tunics, apparently at random, and tucked them under one elbow. "But the work I do is dangerous, and if I make a mistake I'll be killed. So it pays to be a little paranoid."

Hunter thought about that for a moment. Being constantly on the alert for an attack from everyone around you seemed like a stressful way to live. Maybe the Jedi, even now, was watching the commandos, unconsciously alert to their every move, despite the fact that they were all on the same side – maybe even despite his Force-senses telling him they were allies. Hunter eyed Quinlan in a new light. "Vos, I'm beginning to understand why Cody says you're a little crazy."

The Jedi, who was now in the act of sorting through a collection of belts, looked up at him, offended. "You're only _beginning_ to understand?" He paused, then snorted. "And _Cody_ said that?"

"Yeah. Kind of odd, considering." Hunter glanced at Crosshair, who was examining a full-length, hooded cloak. When Crosshair caught his gaze, he turned away in apparent disinterest.

The Jedi didn't appear to have noticed. "I _should_ be righteously insulted," he mused, slipping both sheathed vibroblades onto a leather belt. "I'm not a little crazy, I'm completely crazy. Still, all things considered, I'm flattered that Codes said that."

All four commandos stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

Quinlan Vos snickered at their shock.

_He said that on purpose, just to see our reactions,_ Hunter thought resignedly.

Wrecker let out a bark of laughter. "You probably don't want to call him that."

"Hm," said Tech, with an amused little smirk. "If you do call him that –" He looked at Crosshair.

Crosshair finished, "– make sure we're there."

"No promises." Quinlan checked the stack of items he held. "Besides, I already called him that once. He didn't say anything. Just gave me the eyebrow of death."

Tech winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah, and Obi-Wan looked like I'd just told him Yoda was a Sith. Skywalker thought it was hilarious, though." Quinlan grinned.

Hunter wondered briefly who Skywalker was, then shook his head. "Vos, I could be wrong . . . but I was always under the impression that all Jedi were really –" He hesitated, but there was no good way to say it. He should have kept his mouth shut, but it was too late for that now. "– dignified," he ended.

"Oh, yeah," said the Jedi. "You're _wrong._ Well, I've got everything I need. What about you?"

Wrecker held up a large black jacket. "I dunno, how much do we need?"

"I'm all set," Hunter said. "I've got black clothes back at the ship."

"Boots, too?" Vos asked.

"Well – no, I figured these would work fine."

"Armor's too distinctive. Unless you want to paint it."

Hunter sighed and went to look at the boots. "No, I don't want to paint it." He glanced quickly at the selection, then took four pairs. "I assume galactic standard sizes are the same even out here."

"Should be, yeah."

Tech looked up from his perusal of one counter. "Everything looks completely new."

"It is. This is a high-end store – or what passes for high-end around here, anyway."

After a brief moment of thought, Tech snatched up a black vest and a fitted black cap. "This should be everything."

Crosshair joined them silently, several things draped over one arm. "Ready."

"Good," said Quinlan, then paused. "Hang on. I should have enough cash, but it's probably better to have loose change. Hunter, you'd better trade in your credit chip."

Hunter nodded, approached the storeowner, and held up the chip. "Can you give me change for this?"

"If you didn't buy more than a thousand credits' worth."

Hunter shrugged. He honestly had no idea what the prices were – mostly because nothing was marked.

Running a practiced eye over their belongings, the Nautolan nodded. "I can let you have that for – oh, let me see . . ."

_Let you have that . . . ?_ Hunter tilted his head. "I thought this was for sale. Don't you already have a price set?"

"Prices change," said the Nautolan, limping over to his counter. "Inflation."

Hunter rolled his eyes and turned to Quinlan. "I thought you said he was one of the 'scrupulously fair' ones."

"He is," said the Jedi assuredly. "He's just being difficult."

The Nautolan chuckled and gestured for the items. He glanced silently at them for a moment, then pronounced, "Seven hundred credits."

Hunter cast a hesitant look at Vos, wondering if he wanted him to bargain, but the Jedi nodded. "Works for us."

"Good." The elderly Nautolan accepted the chip and gave Hunter three hundred-credit pieces. "And don't come back in here and try to steal your money back. I've got traps everywhere."

"Told ya," said Quinlan to Hunter in a rather loud undertone.

Tech looked annoyed. "We would never steal it!"

"Yeah," said Wrecker. "What's the point? It's your money now."

The Nautolan eyed him strangely, then looked at Quinlan as though speaking to the only sensible person in the room. "What was it I said? Walking targets?"

Quinlan nodded sympathetically. "Tell me about it."

Crosshair reached over to the counter to get the clothes and elbowed Quinlan hard in the ribs. By accident, of course.

Hunter thought about correcting him – Vos was a _general!_ – then remembered what Vos kept telling them about acting their parts. Well, orders were orders. . . So, under the pretense of collecting Tech's things, Hunter reached over to the counter and shouldered Vos firmly out of his way.

"Insubordination," muttered Vos out the side of his mouth.

"We're not soldiers, " Hunter muttered back.

Vos opened his mouth, then shut it again.

The commandos stuffed their new belongings into their packs, which were mostly empty, since they weren't carrying rations and water as they usually did. They left the store with a final nod to the old Nautolan, who was watching them with a rather humorous look in his black eyes.

"Where to next?" Wrecker asked, slamming the door behind him. "Rimmer's Rest?"

Vos winced. "Yes, but _don't_ talk that loud. If someone wants to ambush us, knowing our destination will help them a lot."

Wrecker slumped, mortified. ". . . Sorry."

The Jedi stared around for a long moment, as though looking for something, then turned back to the big clone. "It's fine, just be careful. Now, let's get going. I'm starved."

#

Rimmer's Rest was already crowded when they arrived – not so crowded that there were no tables available, but crowded enough that Hunter was uncomfortable even before he'd fully walked through the door.

Unbothered by the large number of people, Vos sauntered over to a booth near the door. "Good spot here."

Hunter wanted to ask how the Jedi intended to gather information from the people in this place. Between the loud, incessant music, the raised voices, and the slamming of eatingware, he could scarcely hear himself think. And yet somehow the Jedi was going to gather information on a crime lord who was, by all accounts, secretive.

Wrecker slid cautiously into the booth, as though afraid he'd break the table if he leaned on it too hard, and sat on the short side of the three-sided bench. Crosshair and Tech got in next, then Hunter slid in next to the sniper.

Quinlan flopped into the space next to Tech. "Look, lose the helmets," he told the commandos under his breath. "And try to look relaxed. No one here is going to pay attention to you unless you look out of place."

Hunter glanced at the rowdy group surrounding him and raised his eyebrow.

"I didn't mean act _drunk,_ " the Jedi clarified. "Just act like you belong here." With that unhelpful bit of advice, he slipped out and vanished in the direction of the counter that ran the length of the cantina.

Hunter removed his helmet and set it on the bench in easy reach, then told Tech to stop running scans on the cantina's security system, since he was pretty sure that qualified as 'looking out of place'.

Tech set to work intently observing everyone around him instead, which – wasn't much better, honestly. Even Hunter knew that if someone looked up and caught Tech's studying gaze, that person would most likely take it as a challenge.

"Tech," he began. "Maybe you shouldn't –"

Tech twisted around suddenly and leaned across the table toward Hunter. "Look, it's the Ithorian we saw getting robbed."

Hunter glanced up. The Ithorian was sitting by himself at a small table a short distance away, and was staring into the bottom of an empty glass, looking injured, lost and miserable. No one around him was paying the slightest attention.

"Wish we could do something to help," muttered Wrecker. "He doesn't look good."

"Hm," said Crosshair, his sharp gaze flitting around the room. "No one's watching him at the moment. . ."

Tech brightened. "Hunter, would you give me some credits?"

Hunter gave him a patient look. "Tech, I don't know if that's such a good idea."

His youngest squad mate frowned. "Maybe not, but why don't you give me some credits anyway."

"Yeah." Crosshair elbowed Hunter slightly. "Tech's just paying for information."

Tech cast Crosshair an appreciative look. "Exactly. I'll ask about – the Besalisk who attacked you."

Hunter still didn't think this was a good idea, especially since Tech seemed determined to be the one to help the Ithorian. Then again, he was only a few meters away, and the Ithorian really looked like he could use some help . . .

Hunter nodded. Tech came around to his side of the table, and Hunter handed him a hundred-credit chip. "Be careful."

Tech simply smirked knowingly and left. Self-assured little monster – he knew perfectly well he didn't need to be careful, since Hunter would be keeping an eye on him.

#

Tech approached the Ithorian's table and slid into the chair across from him without being invited.

The Ithorian looked at him blankly, then in fear. "I have nothing left. Please, tell Dverik he already has all my money. I _cannot_ pay him anything else!"

Tech had intended to give him the credits, ask about the Besalisk, and leave, but now his curiosity was aroused. "I'm not from Dverik. I don't even know who he is."

A faint look of hope crossed the Ithorian's eyes, but was quickly replaced with wariness. "I don't understand. Why are you here?"

Tech hesitated. "My friends and I saw what happened earlier. We want to help."

The Ithorian stared at him in disbelief. "No one wants to help."

" _We_ do," Tech said firmly. "Those men in the booth near the door – see them?"

He nodded.

"They're my team."

"Your team." The Ithorian sounded hopelessly confused now, and Tech thought that perhaps he was going about this the wrong way.

He glanced around to make sure no one was looking – except for Hunter – took the Ithorian's empty glass, slipped the credit chip inside, and handed it back.

The alien blinked slowly at it, then stared at Tech again. "This is payment for a job, maybe? You wish me to do something?"

Strange. The Ithorian seemed to have a good grasp of Basic. Maybe Tech just hadn't explained properly. He put his forearms on the table and leaned forward. "No, it's not payment. It's a gift. You don't have to do anything."

The Ithorian closed his eyes briefly. "My deepest thanks. You must forgive me, though; I still do not understand. I have never seen you or your friends before, and am a newcomer to this planet. Why would you want to help me?"

"Because you need help," Tech replied. "Why else?"

With a sudden movement, the alien reached forward. "My name is Chopa."

Tech shook his hand. "I'm Tech."

"Tech," said Chopa slowly. "Thank you again your help. I work in a supply shop near the airfield. Please, if there is anything you need, I will be happy to bring it to your ship for you."

Near the door, Quinlan Vos returned to the booth, looked around, caught Tech's gaze, and paused with a curious sideways tilt to his head. Tech blinked at him and went back to his conversation with Chopa. "Thank you, I might take you up on that."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I'm curious about this Dverik. Would you tell me about him?"

"He is a human . . . I cannot give you much help as to his appearance – you humans look so much alike to me." Chopa paused. "Though he does have a strange orange mark on his left wrist."

Tech pulled out his datapad and waved for him to go on.

"He came to my house a month ago, offering protection," said Chopa. "I did not require it, I thought, but when I came back from the shop the next day, men in black clothes were shooting lasers through my walls."

Tech rolled his eyes. "And of course, once you paid Dverik for his protection, the attack stopped."

"Yes. But lately I have run out of money. He charges more and more."

Tech nodded. "Chopa, would you mind telling me how _much_ you owe Dverik?"

"Several thousand credits, if I wish to live out the year," said Chopa unwillingly.

Tech typed out the detail about Dverik's orange tattoo, then glanced up. "And you cannot move to a different sector?"

"Even if I did, another criminal would soon try the same thing. At least here I have a steady job."

"I see." Tech looked again at Quinlan, who was still watching him, then cast a quick smile at Chopa. "But Dverik really runs things around here?"

"In this town sector, he is the crime leader."

"How many would you say are paying him for protection?"

"Hundreds, I expect. I myself know only twelve."

"Any idea where Dverik lives?"

Chopa looked alarmed. "You cannot – you are not going after him?"

"Do you know where he lives?" repeated Tech.

"I – yes."

Tech grinned humorlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rimmer's Rest is a cantina in the game Dark Forces II, although I ended up re-designing it a bit. By the time Kyle Katarn comes around, it would probably be a lot different anyway. :)


	20. Sidetracked Again

Quinlan leaned one hand against the table and watched Tech, who was getting more and more animated as he continued to speak. Once or twice, the commando glanced up at the Jedi, but then promptly went back to his conversation with the Ithorian, who looked –

Quinlan paused. The Ithorian looked scared and . . . hopeful?

That was never a good thing.

Hunter seemed to have noticed too, since he stood, purposefully catching Tech's attention. The commando sergeant turned one hand palm up and tapped it with two fingers, and Tech nodded. After a few more words to the Ithorian, Tech hopped up from the table and hurried back to the booth.

"What did you do?" Hunter asked resignedly before Quinlan could even open his mouth.

Tech put away his datapad. "I got some information," he said, in apparent confusion at the suspicious looks his squad mates were casting him.

Quinlan poked at him. "Sit down and tell us about it."

Tech slid in.

Quinlan followed. "Oh, I ordered some fried krill and various other things."

"Sounds good!" said Wrecker.

"Other things?" Hunter asked, exchanging a wary look with Crosshair.

"Well, I didn't actually read the whole menu," Quinlan admitted. "Just picked a few of the human menu numbers at random."

Crosshair seemed to find this highly amusing, because he removed his gaze from the surrounding cantina long enough to raise an eyebrow at Quinlan.

Quinlan shrugged. "I got distracted – I recognized the Ithorian, and was trying to think up some information I could pay him for."

Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech all glanced a bit smugly at Hunter, who gazed back, unimpressed. "So Vos thought of the same thing you did," he said. "Still doesn't mean it was a good idea."

"My ideas are always good," began Quinlan, but had to break off because a heavyset man came over to bring the food.

As soon as he'd left, Quinlan realized that now all the commandos were giving him unimpressed looks. "What?" he asked them. "My ideas _aren't_ always good?"

"Got it in one," said Hunter.

Crosshair and Tech looked appreciative, and Wrecker laughed.

Just for that, Quinlan decided not to warn them that the krill sauce was incredibly spicy. He simply sat there, watching with a benign smile as they started eating.

Wrecker looked surprised and reached for a second krill. "Wow, this is _really_ good."

 _Nuts._ Quinlan frowned. _Maybe Hunter . . ._

Hunter ate one, cleared his throat subtly – or tried to, anyway; it turned into a cough halfway through – then took the dish of sauce and shoved it in Wrecker's direction.

Crosshair said nothing, but continued to dip and eat krill with a look of absolute indifference. He was totally doing it on purpose, too – Quinlan was _used_ to spicy food, and even he had to eat the sauce slowly.

Tech's reaction was the best by far. He swallowed a bite; then his eyes widened in shock and he grabbed his canteen and took several hasty gulps.

Quinlan gave him a pointed grin.

Tech rolled his eyes and reached for a slice of joja fruit.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Wrecker took the sauce, since no one else seemed to want it – even Crosshair gave up after a few krill – and spread it liberally on his nerfburger.

Quinlan eyed him. "You seriously eating that?"

"Yeah." Wrecker shrugged. "I like it."

Tech straightened the bread on his own sandwich. "Your funeral."

"Speaking of funerals," said Hunter ominously. "What did you promise that Ithorian?"

Tech blinked. "What makes you think I promised him anything?"

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Past experience?"

"Hmm." Tech considered, then appeared to give in. "Well, I did not actually _promise_ him anything. . . though I may have strongly insinuated I would be investigating Dverik."

Quinlan swallowed a bite. "I suppose Dverik is a local crime lord who's bleeding the citizens of everything they've got."

"You've heard of him?" Tech asked.

"No. But crime lords are all alike. Nar Shaddaa's got _hundreds_ of local dictators who spend their time fighting each other and making everyone else miserable."

"That's stupid," decided Wrecker. "Don't suppose we can take care of all of 'em, but we can at least handle Dverik."

Quinlan eyed him, then stared at his food. The commandos were as ready to help as he used to be, but – "You guys do not seem to get it."

"Get what?" Crosshair asked, tilting his head. "That there's nothing we can do about people like Dverik?"

"It's not that." The Jedi Knight folded his arms and leaned back. "At the risk of sounding like the coldblooded reasonable one . . . Well, let's assume you successfully deal with Dverik. What happens next?"

"Another crime lord takes over," said Hunter.

"Yeah. And he goes and bullies the same people you just tried to help. And then you take _him_ out, and another one replaces him. That's just how crime cities function. In fact, the people are usually better off with the original crime lord."

Tech twisted to look at him, indignation flashing in his eyes. "But he _kills_ people when they don't give him what he wants! We can't just not do something!"

"It's not our place," began Hunter thoughtfully.

Tech flung his napkin down and rounded on him. "Hunter!"

Wrecker grabbed Tech's shoulder and shook him a little. "You know Hunter doesn't mean it that way. Let him finish."

Tech subsided, and Quinlan glanced curiously at Wrecker. _Hunter doesn't mean it 'that way'? What way?_

Hunter cast a quick look at the waiter as he pushed by their table, then turned back to Tech. "It isn't our _place_ to help these people – it's not what we were sent here to do, and we're not equipped for it; we don't have the authority, the time, or the materials. From what I've seen, this entire planet is full of pretty miserable civilians."

Tech did not look appeased. "Yes, but we can help the people we come across, and as for the others . . ."

"As for the others," Quinlan finished, "you can't help billions of people. You can't even help hundreds, not if you want to finish your own mission. In fact, you probably can't even help ten. But that's not the important part. What's important is that even if you _do_ help a few people, in the end it'll probably make their lives worse."

Tech glanced at him and let out a faint sigh. "I would attempt to disprove your point, but I have no evidence against it."

"Well . . ." Quinlan hesitated, then picked up a piece of joja fruit and broke it. Pink juice ran down his fingers, and he stared at it for an instant before dropping it back on his plate. "I hate to say it, but my evidence comes from personal experience. When I first went on missions as an Investigator, even in places like this, I tried to help everyone I came across. It backfired nine times out of ten. Mostly, I'd get tricked and end up helping people who didn't need help. The last time I went out of my way to rescue a village being held hostage, you know what happened?"

Tech continued to watch Quinlan, but Hunter's gaze slid away as though he were uncomfortable.

Quinlan picked up his napkin and cleaned the juice from his fingers. "I made a stupid mistake. I thought I'd dealt with all the terrorists, but – turns out, the guy I thought was the leader was the second-in-command. I came back four days later, after my own mission, to see if everyone was doing well. The terrorist leader had returned two days previous with more men, dragged all the villagers to the town square . . ."

Even now, years later, the memory of that pillar of smoke and ash still burned at the back of Quinlan's mind. He shook his head and forced himself to finish, trying to keep his voice even. "He had everyone shot, then torched the entire place."

The commandos watched him steadily.

Quinlan rubbed at his shoulder, which was throbbing viciously now from the blow he'd received earlier, and said, "He left me a message while he was at it, too. 'Your help was invaluable, Jedi.' I found out later his second was going to betray him. All I'd done was get him out of the way."

Hunter's eyes flickered with understanding. "And that was the last time you really tried to help."

"It was the last time I tried to help in places like that."

Tech turned slightly towards Quinlan, his gaze earnest. " But if you hadn't helped those people, they might still have been caught in the middle."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been my fault. It would have been just another tragedy on just another planet . . ." Quinlan slapped his napkin down on the table and stood abruptly, making Tech jump. "Anyway."

Wrecker rubbed the back of his head. "Vos, what happened to the leader?"

"I –" Quinlan frowned at the floor, not having expected the question. "I went to the people who passed as officials and got myself a warrant for his execution. . . Then got myself hired to carry it out."

Crosshair nodded. "Did you succeed?"

"I guess you could say that." Quinlan turned away, then hesitated. He'd hidden this from the rest of the galaxy, apart from the Jedi Council, but somehow . . .

After a brief struggle, Quinlan bit his lip, then looked back at the commandos. "I took him out – by telling him who I was, torching his entire place in front of him and executing him only after he'd been expecting me to kill him for over an hour. It wasn't a clean kill, either. Came to my senses after I'd shot him four times. _Then_ I ended him with a shot to the head."

There was a long pause.

"You did – succeed, then," Tech began tentatively. "But –"

"Yeah, I succeeded all right," Quinlan interrupted, suddenly unwilling to continue the conversation. He folded his arms and let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "I hope you didn't expect all Jedi to be good people."

There was another short pause.

"Never really thought about it," Crosshair said coolly.

Wrecker, with a scandalized look, shoved the sniper into Hunter, who was just getting to his feet. Hunter overbalanced and caught himself against the table, knocking a glass off. Tech leaned across to catch it, but in doing so knocked a plate off Hunter's side of the table; Wrecker lunged past Crosshair to catch the plate, squashing the sniper against the wall of the booth in the process.

By the time they'd all regained their balance and realized that Quinlan had stood there the entire time, quite happy not to help, the dark mood was effectively broken.

"So," said Hunter, glancing down at Tech. "What information did you get? Anything about the Besalisk?"

Quinlan rolled his eyes. _"He's_ the guy you chose to ask about?"

Tech ignored him, choosing to answer Hunter instead. "He didn't know anything about a Besalisk. The information I got was mostly about Dverik. However, I did mention the Prince. Chopa said that the Prince stays out of the locals' business completely. As long as everyone else keeps away from his stronghold, he leaves them alone."

"Huh," Quinlan muttered. "I figured as much, but it's good to have it confirmed."

"How does that help us?" Hunter asked.

"Well, for one thing it means we don't have to worry about the Prince's men getting involved if we decide to go after Dverik."

Tech, who was stacking the dishes closest to him, looked sharply up. "I thought you said we weren't –"

"Pretty sure I didn't," Quinlan interrupted.

Wrecker stared at him in confusion. "You said it was a bad idea."

"Well . . . I think helping by directly attacking Dverik is a bad idea." He held up a hand to forestall Hunter's questioning look. "But Tech does have a point about helping people who are set in our path, and we've got the time. Maybe there's some other way we can help the people who live in this sector."

Crosshair folded his arms. "What 'other' way?"

"Oh . . ." Quinlan glanced at Chopa, who was still sitting at his table, carefully not looking in their direction. "I don't know yet. First step to answering that question is to get some intel on Dverik."

"I can start on that," offered Tech.

"Yeah, but carefully." Quinlan pulled some credits from his pocket and fingered them. "For now, I've got to ask around, see if the Prince has any known weaknesses."

"How are you going to do that?" Hunter asked, glancing at the rowdy crowd that filled the cantina.

Quinlan grinned. "When people are drunk, you can start a topic without anyone really knowing you started it. Then everyone just adds on."

Hunter did not look impressed.

Quinlan shrugged. "I'll be at the pazaak table. You guys hang around if you want, see what you can pick up without causing trouble. Cantinas are great for overhearing conversations. Keep away from Chopa, though, just in case any of Dverik's men are here."

* * *

Hunter checked his chronometer and let out a quiet sigh. They'd been here nearly four hours already, and the noise level had been increasing steadily. As each new crowd came in through the doors, the conversation would grow louder, drowning out the steady beat of the music. A few minutes later, the bartender would turn up the music. One would think that the patrons would eventually get sick of hearing the same monotonous piece of music played over and over through the somewhat damaged sound system, but either they were immune to it, or maybe they were deaf.

Hunter made his way back to their booth, which was still unoccupied. It would seem that most people didn't come here to eat. Trading information, closing deals, gambling, and playing pazaak and sabacc seemed to be the main activities here – all of which were heavily accompanied by drinking.

Hunter sat down, facing the door this time, and considered seeking out his squad mates. Wrecker had been arm-wrestling and beating everyone for the last half hour, though Hunter was sure this did not count as maintaining a low profile. Then again, the Jedi had spent nearly an hour playing pazaak and losing on purpose. Apparently, this had been so he'd get the attention of the money-eager people nearby. The plan had worked, and the next hour had been spent in him playing one challenger at a time, all the while listening to the conversation around him.

Then, after gambling away a few hundred credits in small amounts here and there, Quinlan Vos had won most of them back in a winner-takes-all game against the cantina's pazaak champion.

Hunter cast a glance in the direction of the pazaak table. Vos sure had weird ideas about not drawing attention . . .

Wrecker stumped over and sat down across from him. "This place is _loud!_ " he announced at the top of his lungs. "I can't even hear myself!"

Once again, Hunter thought that the near-fatal explosion had left Wrecker with more hearing damage than the Kaminoans had initially thought.

A few minutes passed, and then Chopa got slowly up from his table and limped out of the cantina, giving Hunter a cautiously grateful look as he passed. Hunter replied with a slight nod.

Then Tech slipped in next to Wrecker, forcing him to slide further down the bench, and shot Hunter a preoccupied smile. He pulled his datapad out and compared something on it to the screen in his vambrace.

The Jedi's voice rose over the crowd, sounding a bit slurred. "To celebrate my good luck, the next round of drinks is on me! Bartender!"

Cheers rose from most of the occupants, and Hunter winced.

Tech continued to type, humming tunelessly to himself.

Hunter eyed him in disbelief. "Are you wearing earplugs or something?"

Tech looked up, removing an earplug. "Did you say something?"

Hunter gave a resigned sigh. "Never mind."

Tech nodded his understanding and went back to humming and typing.

Wrecker, who apparently had nothing else to do, continued sliding around the bench until he was next to Hunter. Once there, he slouched back against the corner.

"Don't fall asleep," warned Hunter, more to himself than to Wrecker.

"Not a chance," Wrecker grumbled.

The music pounded, and the lights in one corner of the cantina flickered in quick glints of blue and red. An intoxicated Weequay staggered past, hitting against their table on his way by, and left the cantina. He was at the fifteenth to leave this way. Hunter had to wonder how many of those people would be alive, come morning. If this place was so dangerous, why did the patrons apparently feel safe in getting drunk and then leaving on their own? Or was the cantina some sort of safe zone? No fights had broken out yet, which was surprising, all things considered . . .

Suddenly aware of a presence beside him, Hunter twisted sharply in his seat to see Crosshair, leaning one forearm against the edge of the booth above him as he stared at the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Hunter asked.

Crosshair glanced down at him. "Just hanging around."

"Well, stop hanging around and sit down."

Crosshair shrugged and obeyed, sitting next to Tech and promptly reaching for the datapad. Tech jerked it away and shot Crosshair a dangerous glower.

When the sniper slouched back, Tech returned to his work, occasionally glancing between the two screens.

Crosshair sat quietly for almost two full minutes; then, with a sudden movement, he reached out and flipped Tech's vambrace-screen closed.

Tech froze in confusion. Then his mind made the connection between his closed screen and the person next to him, and he twisted around, getting to his knees on the bench so that he was taller than the sniper. "Crosshair!" he snapped. "I was _busy!"_ He whacked Crosshair on the shoulder with his datapad.

Crosshair eyed him, completely unaffected, then gave him a quick push in the chest. Tech lost his balance and sat down.

Hunter rolled his eyes and slouched forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Stop acting like cadets," he groaned. "Wrecker?"

Wrecker promptly stood, reached across the table, caught Tech by the shoulders, and dragged the shorter clone back to sit next to him. "Stay here," he ordered. "Crosshair, stop bothering him."

Tech sniffed and went back to work. After a moment, Crosshair took out a few toothpicks and started arranging them in various letters of the aurebesh.

Hunter watched, his eyes blurring with fatigue, and wondered how long it would take Vos to gather whatever intel he was looking for. Wrecker was bored, Crosshair was bored, and Tech would probably get bored as soon as he finished his current project. . . And Hunter himself had been up for almost forty hours now. . .

 _Not a good combination,_ he thought, blinking hard. _I'll give Vos five minutes, and then we'll have to regroup._

The door opened again, and a woman in a drab robe hurried inside. She shut the door quickly, as though eager to block out the night, and turned into the room; then she swung back around and reached for the door, almost as if she wanted to leave.

Hunter straightened a little, his interest caught at her apparent fright, but then the woman pulled her robe around her and hurried to the bar.

Hunter leaned back, folded his arms, and stared down at the nicked surface of the table. The music and loud conversing faded to a dull blur of noise in the background, and his eyes slid shut almost of their own accord. He forced them open for an instant, but then, lulled by the soft tapping of Tech's keys, Hunter dozed off.

The sudden clatter of dishes woke him suddenly, and he sat upright with a jerk and looked sharply around.

"Relax. Nothing's going on," said Crosshair, who was focused on an elaborate interlocking star-shaped pattern of toothpicks. The sniper considered his work for a moment, then inserted more toothpicks horizontally around the center. "You've been asleep for half an hour."

"Twenty-seven minutes," corrected Tech, not looking up from his work. He tilted the datapad from side to side, then turned it toward Wrecker. "Is that better?"

Wrecker, slumped forward on one elbow, sat up and looked at it. "I dunno. The propulsion system would work, but it still looks pretty top-heavy to me."

"I suppose . . . Yes, you're right." Tech stared at it in disgust, then dropped the pad on the table with a _clunk_ and leaned his head back against the wall. His gaze flitted around the room. "Oh. Quinlan Vos is coming back."

"About time," muttered Wrecker. "Wonder if he found out anything."

Quinlan swung his half-cape over one arm and dropped into the seat next to Crosshair. "Well, don't you all look entertained."

"It's been nearly five hours," Hunter said mildly.

"Which isn't a long time, all things considered." The Jedi leaned his elbows on the table, then got distracted by Crosshair's toothpick shape. "Hey."

Crosshair glanced at him, then reached to sweep it into one hand.

"No, wait, I want to see if . . . Yep, right here." Vos pulled a single toothpick from the shape and the whole thing collapsed. "These are always fun."

"This is a civilian pastime?" Tech asked interestedly.

Crosshair, looking skeptical, set to work putting the toothpicks back in the case.

"On occasion," Quinlan said. "Ever built a house out of sabacc cards?"

Wrecker cracked his knuckles, bored. "Who would build a house out of cards?"

"Same kind of people who build shapes out of toothpicks," he retorted. "It's fun and a challenge – when it isn't making you want to pull your hair out."

Hunter smirked at the mental image of the Jedi trying to pull his hair out. "Right. So, what did you find out?"

"Okay." Quinlan sat upright and folded his hands in front of him. "The Prince has never been seen to leave his establishment, period. Apparently, no one even knows what he looks like. There was a break-in at his place recently, and people only knew about it because the next day there were a few heads stuck on spears at the edge of the Prince's territory."

"That's . . ." Hunter paused. "Why?"

"Well, Grakkus sent those bounty hunters, and at least one of them managed to see the Prince, because he told Grakkus that he was a Serennian. Presumably, the Prince had their heads put out as a warning to Grakkus." Quinlan grinned mirthlessly. "Still willing to investigate him?"

Wrecker grinned. "We're better than a few bounty hunters."

"Uh-huh." Quinlan paused. "Actually. Grakkus would have sent his most expendable hunters in, so you're probably right. Other than that, I got a couple more mission-related facts, which I'll tell you back on the ship; and I've got a ton of unneeded info about small-time smugglers, criminals, and mercs. What about you guys?"

Hunter shrugged. "I overheard a lot, but nothing important. Maybe you'd have picked something out of it . . ."

"Maybe. Anything about the local dictator?"

"I heard him mentioned. A lot of people were talking about his latest raid. He's the kind of guy who likes expanding his territory."

Tech looked up. "Yes, and one man signed a contract to sell his merchandise only to Dverik. I have pictures of both parties involved."

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that could be useful. . . How'd you do that?"

"I pointed them out to Wrecker, who interested them in arm-wrestling," Tech said. "I merely watched the competition."

"And your helmet cam took pictures by itself," Hunter finished.

Tech smirked.

Crosshair tilted his head. "Vythia Archane has been down here before. Sounds like this is where she does a lot of the hiring."

The Jedi looked up. "Are you sure?"

He shrugged. "It's either Vythia, or there's another purple-skinned female Nautolan who wears a red crystal on her forehead and works for the Prince."

"Okay, so it's Vythia," Quinlan said after a moment. "That makes sense that she'd do more hiring down here. We're pretty close to the bounty agency headquarters."

"Did you find out anything about that Besalisk?" Crosshair asked.

"No. And I asked directly, too."

Hunter frowned. "Why? Didn't you say he was sent by Grakkus?"

The Jedi waved his question aside. "I only realized this during my seventh round of pazaak, but that Besalisk wasn't out to kill me – and yet the guys who went after you, Hunter, were using thermals. It doesn't add up, unless –" He broke off, staring into space.

The commandos watched him, but when half a minute had passed and the Jedi continued to gaze at nothing, Hunter went back to observing his surroundings. A slight stir from near the bar caught his attention, and he glanced over to see a woman making her way across the room.

When she looked at the door, he recognized her as the cloaked woman who had entered earlier. Her cloak was gone, and she wore a low-cut dress of sparkling green material with a long slit in one side of the skirt. She gazed around the room for a moment, then made her way to an empty table near the door and sat down, crossing her legs.

A male Twi'lek wandered over to the girl and sat down at the table. She smiled, but shifted slightly away. When the Twi'lek didn't move towards her, Hunter looked away. He supposed it was pointless of him to even be concerned about her. She was the one dressing and acting in a way that would gain her attention – but . . .

Hunter frowned, remembering the streetwalker in the marketplace. It was probably safer in here – at least this girl didn't risk being beaten or killed. . . Still.

He glanced back at her. He didn't like it at all, but – what could he do about it?

Wrecker followed his gaze. "Kind of pretty, isn't she?"

"Isn't who?" Tech asked, staring at his screen.

Crosshair, who had also looked over at the girl, rolled his eyes at Tech. "Who do you think? She's the only woman in the entire cantina."

"There were other women earlier," Tech retorted, finally looking up. "A Zabrak selling deathsticks, a Twi'lek with a rifle, and – oh. Yes, she is pretty."

Quinlan Vos finally came back to life, having apparently heard nothing of the conversation. "Okay, Hunter, I have a feeling that Grakkus sent guys after one or both of us. I never reported back to him, and neither did you. He's not an idiot – much as it pains me to say it. We should assume that he figured out I was the one who stole his Sith artifact."

"Why didn't he figure it out earlier?" Tech asked. "You don't exactly look – normal."

"Thanks." Vos rubbed his nose. "Most Hutts think that all humans look alike."

"Because that makes complete sense," said Hunter, glancing at their drastically different appearances. "Then again, I suppose they think it's ridiculous that we can't tell them apart."

"Exactly. . ." Quinlan trailed off, then narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at the woman, who was now sitting by herself.

After a moment, he twisted in his seat, all his attention focused on her.

Hunter considered kicking him under the table. Just because the girl was presenting herself as an object didn't mean she was one.

After a minute, Vos turned back to the commandos. "We should get back to the ship and get some rest. Unless you guys want to hang around and listen in on more conversations."

Crosshair smirked. "Hunter was ready to leave hours ago."

"Yeah." Wrecker suddenly looked interested. "Whenever Hunter's awake for too long, it makes him unsociable."

Hunter rolled his eyes. "Wrecker, I'm warning you . . ."

The Jedi snorted in amusement and opened his mouth to say something, but paused as though distracted before glancing back at the girl.

Hunter gave him a narrow look, then kicked him hard in the shin.

Vos jerked back, hit his knee against the tabletop, and winced. "Ow, okay, what the heck was that for?"

"What do you think?" Hunter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Quinlan stared blankly at him, then rolled his eyes. "I wasn't . . . ugh."

Hunter folded his arms and gave him a skeptical look. "You weren't."

The Jedi sighed. "I was trying to understand what was wrong. Her emotions aren't exactly easy to ignore. She's terrified – she hates this place, hates the job. So why is she here? She must be absolutely desperate for the money."

Crosshair raised an eyebrow. "What happened to not helping?"

"There are different kinds of help," Vos muttered, glancing at her again. "Some of them more important than others. . ." He hesitated, then got to his feet. "You guys head out. I'll join you in a minute."

Hunter left the booth. "So we're helping her?"

"Yeah." Quinlan gave a self-deprecating smirk. "Somehow, I can stand by and watch someone get beat up, just to keep from jeopardizing the mission – but there are some things I can't ignore."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Tech said.

The Jedi shook his head, then pulled some credits from his pocket and stared thoughtfully at them. "I'll be right back."

He headed to the bar again, slouched against it, and slid a credit chip over to the Weequay bartender, who took it quickly. Quinlan gestured at the girl, and the bartender shrugged.

Hunter frowned. Maybe that was how things worked here, but he still felt like giving the Weequay a good punch in the jaw.

Instead, he gestured to his companions, and they grabbed their helmets and left the cantina. Hunter motioned Wrecker and Crosshair to either corner of the building while Tech set to work scanning their surroundings, which were mostly empty.

Hunter held the door open and leaned against it, watching as Quinlan approached the girl, who sat only a few feet away from the door.

She glanced up at him. "What do you want?"

Quinlan held out a hand. "You don't want to be here, do you?"

For some reason, instead of questioning him, she stood up and left the building, leaving Quinlan to follow her. When she caught sight of Hunter, she hesitated, but he ignored her, turning instead to the Jedi. "Area's clear."

The girl wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the night air. "I saw you pay the bartender."

"I paid him so he wouldn't chase me down for leaving with his star attraction," the Jedi replied. "Look – I can tell you hate this place. What are you doing here? Is it money you need?"

She stared at him, her face even paler than before. Her eyes filled with tears, but she tossed her head and blinked them back. "Everyone here needs money. They need it for their filthy pursuits or their drugs or their gang wars, and some people need it for food and survival. Maybe I'm just another woman willing to sell herself to make a few credits."

Hunter shut the cantina door and joined Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker, where they stood a short distance away. Despite the noise from the marketplace, though, which was still busy despite the late hour, the voices of the Jedi and the woman were clearly audible.

"I don't think that's true," Quinlan said gently. "Sometimes, in their desperation to survive, people do all kinds of things that they hate themselves for later."

She let out a shuddering breath and hung her head. "This is my first night working here," she said, as though confessing something. "I found the job three days ago, but never got up the nerve to come. And you're – you're right. I _have_ to earn money so I can leave this awful city."

"Leave the planet instead," he advised. "There's an airfield four levels up with a few passenger shuttles. You won't have a lot of options, but any of those options will be better than here."

"I . . . I know where it is. I can get a shuttle to Bothawui for –" She hesitated.

"What? Twelve hundred credits?"

She flinched. ". . . Two thousand."

"Okay," said Vos. "I mean, I think whoever's charging you is either lowdown or completely ignorant, because there's no way you can earn that kind of money in a few days. . . But you're assured of a place as a passenger?"

"Yes – the owner of the shuttle is a Bothan himself. He is returning there anyway, but agreed to wait a few days if I could pay him."

"Okay." Vos reached into his pocket, then paused.

Hunter glanced at his squad mates. All three of them silently handed over their credit chips, and he joined the Jedi and gave him the chips.

"Thanks," Vos muttered, then glanced back at the girl. "Come on, we'll see you to the airfield. Uh – and you can let go of that knife now."

Hunter raised an eyebrow and glanced down. Sure enough, her fingers were wrapped around a small knife, which she held half-hidden in her skirt.

She lowered the knife and shivered again.

"Sorry, I should have talked to you in the cantina," Quinlan apologized. He reached for the clasp of his cape, and she shook her head and went back inside, returning in a moment with her own cloak.

Hunter set off for the nearest lift – there was one at each corner of the marketplace, and as far as he could tell, none of _these_ lifts were broken. Crosshair and Tech walked on either side of him, while the Jedi followed with the girl, and Wrecker brought up the rear.

The ride up the lift was silent. Hunter was grateful that his teammates were apparently too tired to talk, because he was honestly too tired to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ShadowtheStoryteller for letting me know this story had fan art on Tumblr! :) 
> 
> I don't know if the person who drew it, (user name sorry-but-no-sorry) has a user on here as well . . . But either way, Crosshair's expression is great in that scene with Quinlan's diagnosis! On Wednesday, around two in the morning, I went back to look again, just because - and got caught completely off-guard by the 'elbowing Quinlan' scene. I was TRYING to write a more serious part of the newest chapter, and instead I kept breaking into laughter every time I remembered Quinlan's expression. Just the right blend of comic and animated! 
> 
> Also - I'd completely forgotten he had bruised ribs in that scene. Yikes. :D Good catch. 
> 
> The scene with the spicy krill sauce was inspired by the fact that I tried drinking pepperoncini juice earlier this week. Why, you ask? It was there. Did I regret it? Yes. Was my reaction more dramatic than Tech's? Yes.


	21. Regroup

Quinlan leaned against the doorframe of the large shuttle and eyed the white-furred Bothan, who was clasping his hands nervously. "You can leave the planet within the hour?"

The Bothan leaned forward. "I _must_ leave within the hour."

Quinlan eyed him for a long moment. The Bothan _looked_ scared stiff, but in the Force he was icily calm and distant. "You know what, I'll bet you're an intelligence agent."

Predictably, the alien dropped his nervous act and whipped out a pistol.

Quinlan leaped forward and knocked it out of his hand. "Hey, I'm not after you."

The alien stood, slowly releasing a knife with his free hand. "Then what do you want?"

"I want you to take someone with you to Bothawui. A girl asked you for passage several days ago."

"Yes," said the Bothan, folding his arms. "I haven't seen her since."

"Maybe because you charged her an exorbitant price?"

The Bothan looked perplexed. "Two thousand credits is hardly exorbitant. I am, after all, risking my life by bringing her along."

"I know the feeling," Quinlan assured him. "You're afraid she might be an enemy agent, planted on your ship to take you out. Well . . . fair enough, I guess. Here's the two thousand."

The Bothan examined the credit chips carefully, even slipping them into a small device and scanning them before nodding. "You seem particularly interested in getting this girl off-planet. Why?"

"She somehow managed to survive here for three weeks," Quinlan said, glancing outside to where Tech stood with the girl. The other commandos were a short distance off, having moved to keep watch on the landing platform. "Guess she was trying to get somewhere else, but her pilot dumped her here when his ship was damaged."

"And you are helping her. You're a newcomer to this planet, aren't you?"

"Yep, and so are you. Why do you want to leave so fast, anyway?"

"I have information to deliver."

"Republic or Separatist?"

The alien chuckled. "Bothawui is scarcely concerned with your war. We collect information for thousands of planets."

Quinlan shrugged. "Just making conversation. I've worked with Bothans before."

"Ah. I wondered how you knew I was pretending."

"Work on the acting a little," Quinlan suggested flippantly. "Your nervousness was obviously fake. Now – can I trust you to get her safely to Bothawui?"

The Bothan looked mildly perturbed at Quinlan's half-serious criticism. "I – yes, I will bring her to safety. But I was not acting when I said I had to leave swiftly."

"Okay. I'll get her onboard. Good luck."

"I wish you the same." The Bothan bowed to him and went into the cockpit.

Quinlan jumped from the shuttle, not bothering with the boarding ramp, and landed next to Tech. "He'll take you," he said. "But you'll have to get onboard now."

The girl looked up. Her dark eyes were red-rimmed, but she no longer looked frightened. "I don't know how to thank you," she said in a low, fervent voice. "These last three weeks have been a nightmare. If it weren't for you and your friends, I don't know what . . . How can I possibly repay you?"

Quinlan met her gaze. "Maybe you'll do the same for someone else one day."

"I will, I promise." She hesitated, then reached into one pocket and withdrew a small pendant. "I don't know if this will be of any use to you, but the owner of the cantina gave it to me. I was to show it to anyone who tried to accost me in the streets."

Quinlan accepted the pendant, and the girl nodded and turned to Tech, jumping a bit when she saw that the other three clones had moved quietly up behind him. "Thank you, all of you."

Crosshair and Wrecker inclined their heads, and Hunter said, "Glad to have helped."

Tech, the only commando not wearing his helmet, gave her a friendly smile.

"You'd better get going, now," Quinlan said.

She hesitated, then gave his forearm a quick, grateful squeeze before hurrying up the boarding ramp and disappearing inside.

As the doors closed and the engines started, Wrecker said, "Kind of funny, seeing one of the people we helped."

Crosshair tilted his head. "The Arconan didn't count?"

The ship took off and turned, drifting out above the lanes of air traffic.

"Technically, no," replied Tech, leaning forward to study the pendant that hung from Quinlan's hand. "He was an informant, and therefore not a civilian, as such."

The ship vanished, and Quinlan raised an eyebrow at his companions. "What are you guys talking about?"

Hunter, who had already turned to lead the way back to the _Havoc Marauder,_ didn't seem to hear him.

"Well," said Wrecker, stumping along beside Quinlan, who had to walk fast to keep up. "We're always being sent to help people, but we never see 'em. We just take out the enemy and then leave."

"That's our job," Crosshair commented from ahead of them. "We aren't sent to make friends with the locals."

"Well, no," Tech said. "But Wrecker's right. It's nice to know _whom_ we're helping."

Hunter hadn't said anything, though that was probably less from a lack of opinion and more because he was moving on autopilot.

They reached the narrow walkway, and Quinlan gestured for Wrecker to move ahead of him, just in case the big clone lost his balance. "Hey, Tech, could you check the landing pad for any unexpected visitors?"

Tech obeyed immediately, looking at his datapad instead of where he was walking, and Quinlan almost decided to rescind the order. "Uh . . . Tech – we're on a two-foot walkway over hundreds of meters of empty space . . ."

Crosshair glanced over one shoulder, but apparently decided that Tech knew what he was doing.

Tech looked back at Quinlan. "Wait, did you say something?"

"Nope," said Quinlan. "I'm just talking to myself. Because it's fun."

Wrecker snorted. "He asked you a question, which you didn't hear."

"Oh," said Tech. "Well, at any rate, the platform is clear."

Hunter stepped onto the landing platform and headed straight for the ship.

Tech pressed a button on his vambrace and put away his datapad as the boarding ramp extended.

Quinlan entered the ship last, casting a quick look at the warehouse, which loomed across from them, silent and still in the faint glow of the city lights.

"Seal the doors," Hunter ordered. "We'll keep a guard tonight."

"Activating security measures," called Tech from the cockpit. "And, if we're going by standard time, there are only a few hours left _to_ the night."

"I'll stay on guard," offered Wrecker with a shrug. "I would've had the next shift anyway."

". . . Right," said Hunter, removing his helmet. "Vos – what time should we resume our mission?"

Quinlan leaned back against the wall and pretended to think. "When at least half of you are at least half-alive."

Hunter gave him a dry look. "Vos . . ."

Quinlan smirked. "Okay. Not for the next eight hours at least. There's no rush, and I want to review everything we know and put together a plan of attack. I'll switch out with Wrecker in a couple hours."

* * *

Wrecker entered the lower deck of the _Marauder_ and glanced around. There wasn't a whole lot he could keep quietly occupied with on the upper deck, apart from reading, but that would put him to sleep. Down here, though, he had a few projects.

"Metalworking's too loud," he mumbled, rummaging through the contents of the storage cupboard. "Guess I could work that stupid three-dimensional puzzle Tech keeps nagging me about – or . . ." He stared at a large box, which was full of bits and pieces of various repurposed machines and droids. "I'll sort through this junk."

He hoisted the box to the ground, sat down, and began removing things and setting them in various piles. He'd saved all this stuff for specific purposes, he was sure of it; he just couldn't remember what everything was for. The tactical droid head he'd saved so he could melt it down and turn it into a weapon – to use against droids. He grinned and set that piece in a 'use soon' pil

He glanced up from his work every once in a while to check the sensor station across from him, but nothing was going on. Just as well. Wrecker loved action, but the past couple of weeks had been non-stop.

Footsteps sounded on the short ladder, and Quinlan Vos entered the room. "Hey, Wrecker. Anything going on?"

"Nope." Wrecker stared at a pistol with a long crack in one side. "What could I use this for?"

The Jedi sat down across from him in a cross-legged position. "You can't fix it?"

"This thing? Hunter jammed it into a droid's speeder engine, and –" Wrecker twisted it slightly. The blaster fell in two pieces.

"Okay, never mind," said Quinlan with a raised eyebrow. "Did it work?"

"Yeah, blew the speeder and the droid to bits." Wrecker held up the tactical droid's head and shook it. "See?"

"You kept the head? What for?"

"I'm gonna make a knife out of it and use it to slice droids," said Wrecker.

The Jedi rubbed his chin. "You know what, I'll bet you could hang it on the wall like a hunting trophy. . ."

Wrecker stared at him in glee. "Hey, why didn't I think of that? Quick – where should I put it?"

"You want to put it up now?"

"Yeah, before Hunter wakes up." Wrecker got up, forgetting about the metal pieces in his lap. They slid to the ground with a clatter. "Uh, oops."

Quinlan winced at the noise, then cast a cautious look at the ceiling. "I don't _think_ anyone woke up. . ."

They both listened for a moment, but when the silence started to ring in his ears, Wrecker headed for the ladder. "We're good."

He climbed up and hurried to the galley, the Jedi close on his heels. "We really have to be quiet now," he whispered.

"Right," Quinlan whispered back. "So, you thinking above the shelves or what?"

"Let's put it above the heating unit. . . That way Hunter'll see it first thing." Wrecker tried to balance the head, but it slid off twice. "I'll need some wire or something."

"Hang on." The Jedi hurried back down the ladder, reappearing in a few moments with a long piece. "Let's fasten the head to the shelf above the unit."

"Good." Wrecker quickly wound the wire around the neck and the metal bars of the shelf. "Wait, wait – I just had an idea. Did you see where Tech put that little power unit?"

"No . . .? Hey, are you –?"

"Yep." Wrecker rummaged around in the locker. "Found it!"

"Sh!" warned Vos, holding up a hand. "I just heard something."

Wrecker froze, the power unit in one hand and a cord in the other. "Oh, boy. Bet Hunter heard us."

The barracks door slid open. Wrecker shared a panicked look with the Jedi, but then Tech meandered into the room. He'd obviously been fast asleep – there was a blanket mark on one side of his face, and his hair was sticking up in odd directions. He stopped and stared blankly at them.

Wrecker waved. "Sorry if we woke you."

"I had an idea," Tech said vaguely. "Hm . . . because of that design . . ." He meandered through the galley and into the cockpit.

Quinlan looked questioningly at Wrecker, who shrugged and went back to wiring the droid head. "He does that sometimes," he explained.

"Okay, right," said Vos, a bit uncertainly.

Tech re-entered the room, muttering to himself. "I expect the delicate calibrations involved in such a project will require high-quality materials, but that is not completely insurmountable. . ." He walked right into a concerned-looking Quinlan. Without pausing, Tech adjusted his course and veered back towards the bunkroom, still talking. "Perhaps a high-grade trilanthium, or even –"

The barracks door shut behind him.

Quinlan scratched his jaw. "Was he even awake?"

Wrecker thought for a moment. "Probably not. Okay, plug it in."

"Right." The Jedi plugged the cord into the power unit, and the droid's eyes lit up in a flickering red.

"Run," it said in a flat, alarmed voice. "Hurry."

Quinlan yanked the cord out again. "Whoops."

"Yeah, forgot about that." Wrecker tilted the droid's head upside down, poked around until he located the vocabulator, and yanked it out. "Try again."

This time, the droid's eyes flickered red but it made no sound.

Wrecker stepped back to admire the effect. "Let's leave it there."

"You sure about that?" Quinlan asked him. "I mean, what if Hunter has a grenade with him when he comes out. . ."

Wrecker headed to the cockpit. "He hasn't done that for a while."

"Uh." The Jedi hurried to catch up. "Hasn't done _what_ for a while? Come out of the barracks with a grenade, or thrown a grenade in the galley?"

Wrecker grinned to himself and peered out the viewport, then at the readouts, but the landing pad was still dark and empty.

When he turned back around, Quinlan was standing in the doorway, arms folded and looking vaguely alarmed. "Wrecker, did you hear me?"

"Yup." Wrecker chortled. "He's never done either. Got you that time, Vos!"

The Jedi rolled his eyes and sat on the arm of the pilot seat, then tilted back to sit sideways and put his arms behind his head. "Ha, ha. Well – my shift starts now. Head to the bunkroom if you want, Wrecker; I'll stay on guard."

Wrecker hesitated. It felt strange, leaving someone else guarding the _Havoc Marauder,_ but Hunter had seemed fine with it, so at last Wrecker nodded and left.

The bunkroom was quiet. Everyone else was asleep. Wrecker headed for his own bed, then tripped over someone and nearly fell, barely catching himself against the edge of his bunk.

He glanced down. It was Tech again. He was sitting on the ground and leaning back against the lower bunk, fast asleep.

"How do you always climb down, but not back up?" Wrecker muttered. "It doesn't make any sense."

When Tech didn't answer, Wrecker sighed, hoisted him into the top bunk, and tossed a blanket over him. Tech murmured something, but didn't wake up.

Wrecker got into his own bunk and shut his eyes. It was quiet and peaceful on the ship, after the noise in the cantina . . . He started to doze off.

"Trilanthium," stated Tech, quite clearly, "is a particularly dense compound found only in specific asteroid fields. It is used in communications and –"

Wrecker stuffed his pillow over his ears.

* * *

Hunter woke to the sound of singing.

 _Who is that?_ he thought. The voice wasn't unpleasant to listen to, but as far as he could remember, none of his squad mates were really in the habit of singing. Humming, perhaps – Tech did that a lot, and even Crosshair and Hunter on occasion. Wrecker tended to whistle between his teeth. But none of them really sang, and certainly not dramatic songs like this one.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the doorway for a long moment, then sat up to check the chronometer. He'd been sleeping for nearly nine hours, and felt much better than he had last night. He got out of bed and reached for his armor.

The voice reached the end of a phrase, paused, then returned on a particularly strong, high note and held it for much longer than the song required.

"Would you _stop?!"_ yelled Crosshair from the deck below.

The voice continued to hold the same note.

Hunter ran his hands through his hair. "Is that Vos?" he asked, though the question was largely rhetorical. The answer was evident.

The note cut off with a strangled yelp.

"Yes," Tech said neutrally, glancing up from where he was putting on his boots. "I'm not sure why he started."

"Who knows." Hunter tilted his head, listening, but the song did not resume. "I take it Wrecker's already up and around."

"Yes," said Tech. He got to his feet and checked his pistols. "Quinlan never woke me for my shift."

"Maybe he was up anyway." There was still no sound from outside, and Hunter decided it was time to intervene. Not bothering to finish putting on his armor, he opened the door and entered the galley.

Quinlan Vos was sitting at the table, sorting efficiently through his pack of supplies, as if he hadn't been singing at the top of his lungs a moment ago, while Wrecker stood over him, arms folded.

Hunter eyed Vos for a long, long moment and didn't say anything. The Jedi ignored him completely.

Crosshair stalked into the galley, his hair damp. "What _was_ that? It sounded like a dying krayt dragon."

"Didn't," retorted the Jedi. He held up a crumpled ration bar, tilted his head curiously at it, and opened it in a shower of crumbs.

A horrible screeching sound filled the air, and everyone spun to face Tech. He gazed back at them, then shut off the sound with a tap of a button. " _That_ was a dying krayt dragon."

"Hey," said Quinlan, looking intrigued. "Where'd you get that recording?"

Hunter sighed. "He records all kinds of things. Usually creatures, though."

"What, you came across a dying krayt dragon?"

"No," said Wrecker. "We came across a krayt dragon and killed it. Wasn't really a big one, though."

"Uh-huh. . . Okay." Quinlan shook his head once, then poured the pulverized contents of the ration bar wrapper into one hand.

Hunter glanced at him, then at Crosshair. "Is it raining?"

Crosshair slipped past him into the bunkroom, speaking over one shoulder. "It was twenty minutes ago. Haven't checked since I came in."

Tech sat down with a ration bar of his own, then performed a slight double-take and leaned closer to the Jedi. "What _is_ that?"

"Um?" Quinlan checked the wrapper. "I think it's desert plum and pinenut. Gotta wonder why they even make this flavor."

Tech opened his bar and held it out to compare. "They are _completely_ different consistencies. I would never have guessed it was possible to crumble one of these so thoroughly."

"Yeah, this one's old," said the Jedi cheerfully. "I think it's a couple years out of date or something."

Hunter closed his eyes briefly and went back into the barracks. As the door slid shut, he heard Tech screech, "A couple _years?"_

"That argument ought to last them a few minutes," Crosshair commented from where he was making his bunk.

Hunter smirked. "Ten credits says Tech wins."

There was a sudden crash from the galley.

". . . No bet," said Crosshair.

"I'll hold him!" shouted Wrecker. "Quick, Tech, grab it!"

Hunter sighed and asked himself why he'd agreed to have Vos travel with them all the way to Malachor. He almost went back into the galley, but decided against it. He'd scarcely been awake ten minutes – the others could settle the argument themselves or die in the attempt.

By the time he'd finished preparing for the day, it was silent on the _Marauder_ once again. Hunter opened the door and leaned out. "Is it safe now, or are you guys gonna keep destroying the ship?"

"It's safe!" yelled Wrecker.

Hunter entered the galley again. Vos was eating a new ration bar – the other was nowhere in sight – and Tech was showing him something on his datapad as though they hadn't fought at all. Wrecker was hovering in the hallway door, apparently waiting for something.

Hunter looked from one to the other, then narrowed his eyes. Somehow, at some point during the past two days, Tech and Wrecker had gone from being cautious around the Jedi to acting as though he were just another commando . . .

And as for Vos . . . Last night at the cantina, he'd been like an entirely different person, especially when he told that story about the terrorist. Now, though –

 _No, it's too early for this,_ Hunter thought, disregarding the fact that it was nearly ten hundred hours. He hesitated near the table, silently weighing the merits of making a cup of caf against the outrage that might occur should the others catch him at it. He decided that less chaos was better and headed for the supply shelf instead.

The room was suspiciously quiet. Hunter got a ration bar, turned away, and found himself staring straight into the glowing red eyes of a tactical droid's head.

Hunter stared at it, glanced down at where the head was wired to a power unit, went to the table, and sat down without a word.

Crosshair was smirking, and Wrecker and Vos looked highly pleased, despite Hunter's lack of reaction.

They ate in silence for several glorious seconds, and then Tech tapped his datapad and adjusted his goggles. "This design . . . I'm not sure how to reconcile the amount of space with the power needed. I was sure I'd figured it out, too."

Wrecker and Vos glanced at each other, grinned, and spoke together. "Trilanthium."

Tech stared at them, eyes wide with surprise. "Why didn't I think of that?!"

Hunter put his head on the table and groaned.

* * *

"Okay," said Quinlan, crumpling his ration bar wrapper and tossing it into the incinerator. "We've got to decide what we're doing today."

The commandos straightened up, and Hunter gestured for him to continue.

"Last night, I looked over the intel we've got so far," Quinlan told them. "We've got a couple of unrelated goals. One, we want to investigate Dverik, right?"

"Right," said Tech.

"Two, we need to investigate the Prince's place and figure out who he is and where he's sending the artifacts – but that one's going to be problematic. . . It's possible we could wait to investigate the Prince until _after_ we get back from Malachor, but it's also possible that Vythia'll figure stuff out by then."

"We could split up," Hunter suggested a bit unwillingly.

"Wait," said Crosshair, twirling a toothpick between two fingers. "I thought you told us the Prince was selling the artifacts to Dooku."

"He _is,_ reportedly, but that's only if we go by what Grakkus told us. Also . . . as far as the Sith are concerned, Dooku's not the highest one."

"So, Dooku is the apprentice," Tech mused. "Then who is the master?"

"Darth Sidious. But we don't know who he is," Quinlan replied, frowning. "Matter of fact, we don't even know _what_ he is."

Crosshair met his eyes. "You don't _know?"_

"The Sith work in secret," Quinlan said. "Ever since their whole Rule of Two was implemented, anyway. There was a Zabrak – Obi-Wan killed him, during the Battle of Naboo. He was an apprentice of this Sith Lord. Now Dooku. And Dooku's training a Dathomirian named Ventress."

"But that makes three, if this Sith Lord is still the master," said Tech.

"Ventress isn't a _Sith,_ really," Quinlan said. "She's a Force-adept working for Dooku, and he's taught her some things, but if she really wants to be his apprentice, she'll have to wait until Dooku kills his own master."

"That doesn't make sense," Wrecker said. "If there are only two Sith, and they've got all these Jedi against them, why would they go around killing each other?"

Quinlan slouched against the wall. "Short reason: the Sith, for thousands of years, have been determined to exterminate the Jedi. Completely. When there were many Sith, they spent so much time fighting each other that they never made a lot of headway against the Jedi. So, Darth Bane decided that there would be only a master and an apprentice, and they work together to defeat the Jedi. They've been working and planning from the farthest reaches of the galaxy for a millennia now."

He narrowed his eyes. "And now they've emerged, so they must think they're almost ready to defeat us. But . . . how – _how_ is always the question."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing . . . *cue Palpatine-laugh*
> 
> I hope nothing in this chapter was OOC - that whole part with Quinlan singing seemed to me to be something he'd do, but go ahead and let me know what you think. My theory is that Quinlan, being constantly in danger, would deal with the stress by being super obnoxious the minute he feels safe. :D
> 
> Also, for those of you who do *not* obsessively refresh searches for Bad Batch stories (okay, honestly, neither do I), I did start posting a new story about Bad Batch and Cody. ;D


	22. Infiltration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a slightly late chapter. . . :)

* * *

Quinlan stared at the table, considering the hidden Sith Lord. Darth Sidious could be anywhere, really – maybe even on Serenno, hiding from the Jedi in the heart of Separatist space . . . Which would arguably be the most _obvious_ place, but then again, it would be easy to keep an eye on Dooku from there, in case the apprentice decided to kill the master . . .

There was relative silence for a few moments before Hunter said, "Is Dverik or the Prince our primary objective?"

Quinlan rubbed his forehead. "Sorry, I got distracted. . . Okay. We've got a few different things we need to do – but, because I tend to think that staying alive is pretty high on the priority list –"

Wrecker laughed.

"– I really want to start by figuring out who's after us, and why."

Hunter leaned his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "Last night you seemed pretty sure it was Grakkus."

"Yeah. . . but I also wasn't thinking clearly. I said that all humans looked the same to Hutts, which is true. And yeah, my tattoos are recognizable, but my face was hidden – so was yours. Unless Grakkus had security footage of us and managed to recognize either Hunter or me through the grease and the black armor . . ."

"It isn't _entirely_ unlikely," Tech said, casting a rather pointed look at Quinlan's hair.

". . . True."

Wrecker nodded. "Yeah, and you also both spoke to him – in his throne room _and_ in the vault, right? He could've recognized your voices."

"Yeah," Quinlan admitted. "But that doesn't explain why the guys who went after Hunter, you and Tech tried to kill you, and the ones who came after Crosshair and me didn't try to kill _us._ Maybe Grakkus only recognized me?"

Crosshair looked up. "They seemed pretty intent on killing you."

"The Besalisk could have broken your neck before I ever reached you. Why didn't he? And why didn't he finish me off after he knocked us down?"

Hunter leaned back. "You think they wanted you alive – both of you?"

"Yeah, but I don't see why. I mean, sure, Crosshair thumped Grakkus a good one, and shot him, but _you're_ the one he hired to keep an eye on me. Well, that, and you knifed him – poetically adding injury to insult . . ." Quinlan flicked a strand of hair away from his eyes. "Hunter, can you remember exactly what Grakkus told you to do?"

"Yeah. He said, 'I want you to find a way to work with him. As soon as he has evidence that can convict the Prince, report to me.' Vos . . ." He glanced at Crosshair, then back. "Is it possible that the Besalisk mixed Cross and I up?"

 _I . . . should have thought of that._ Quinlan nodded slowly. "I can definitely see that happening. Good thought."

"All right," said Hunter. "Then, presuming he wants you and me alive, we can also presume he's out for revenge."

"Right."

Hunter smirked faintly. "Of course, you said earlier that he'd have no problem literally pinning me to a wall, but that he wouldn't dare go after you."

Quinlan quirked an eyebrow. "On second thought, I'm not so sure I like how good your memory is. I underestimated Grakkus. Guess he might be willing to risk angering the Jedi and the Hutts after all . . ."

Tech straightened. "If Grakkus killed or captured you, no one would find out that he was to blame. He could simply hire someone like Aurra Sing to hire others, and then they'd bring you to her. She would bring you to Grakkus. No one would have reason to suspect him if they tracked you as far as Aurra. It would be easy for any Jedi to assume that she killed you, since she has a reputation for hating Jedi." He glanced down at his datapad. "I have noticed that a rather large number of the more infamous bounty hunters have a reputation for that."

"Usually because we're the only ones who can bring them to justice," Quinlan said with a frown. "But yeah, you're right. I'm not safe from Grakkus as I hoped I'd be . . . and you guys definitely aren't."

"We took down a lot of 'em yesterday," Wrecker said optimistically. "Maybe they'll leave us alone while they hire more men."

"I wouldn't bet on that." Quinlan drummed his fingers on the table's edge a few times. "But we can't exactly wait here. I mean, we _could,_ but. . ."

"No," said Hunter. "They might attack the ship, and we'd be an easy target for rocket launchers or grenades."

Tech tilted his head. "But if they attacked the ship, they wouldn't be assured of catching either of you alive. Besides, I assume that the Prince and Grakkus would want to avoid angering each other."

"If Grakkus is mad enough, that last bit won't matter," said Quinlan. "I mean, we did free some slaves, infiltrate his palace, steal his stolen lightsabers and that urn, and injure him several times. He'd just capture or kill us, then pay the Prince a good amount of money for the loss of his newly hired bounty team . . . maybe offer some of his own guys as replacements for us."

"That makes sense," said Hunter. "As for attacking the ship directly, they might or they might not. But waiting here to find out is pointless."

"Yeah," said Wrecker. "Besides, if we stay here, we'll never get a chance to pound 'em for attacking!"

Tech and Hunter shot him identical looks.

"What?" Wrecker asked. "You guys _like_ not fighting back when we're attacked?"

"Don't worry," said Quinlan, giving Wrecker a friendly nudge. "They're just being hypocrites." He lowered his voice to a very audible whisper. "Is it just me, or are all four of you a little trigger-happy?"

"Kind of." Wrecker gave a conspiratorial chuckle. "But Hunter's the kind of guy who likes close-range fighting instead of long-range. It's more _challenging_ and _dangerous._ "

Hunter looked a bit disgruntled, and Crosshair and Tech snickered.

Quinlan and Wrecker grinned at each other.

"Now that you've gotten that out of the way," said Hunter, "maybe we can return to planning our mission?"

"Sure thing." Quinlan leaned forward. "Okay. For the moment, we'll assume Grakkus is after us. Keeping that minor problem in mind, we'll start off by going after Dverik . . . he's a small-time crime lord operating in the Prince's sector, so he might have some useful intel about the Prince."

He snapped his fingers. "Which reminds me – I did learn a couple of things last night that I didn't mention. One, the Prince's headquarters extend down several levels, not just on that one we visited."

"So, the warehouse is just the top," Hunter said.

"Right. Two, there's no air traffic in the airlanes around the hideout."

"Oh," said Tech. "That could be very useful, especially if we need to make a quick getaway."

"Exactly – we can fly the _Marauder_ down there, no sweat – even blow a small hole in the building, if need be."

Crosshair rotated a toothpick between his long fingers. "Any idea what kind of defenses he's got?"

"Apart from three seriously skilled bounty hunters? . . . No."

"Hm."

"My thoughts exactly."

Crosshair gave him a disparaging look.

Quinlan responded with a blank stare, then turned to Tech. "Were you able to figure out anything from the intel you got?"

"Yes. I did some investigating into the man who signed the contract. His name is Wistern, and he's selling food to Dverik and his organization." Tech smiled a little. "I have mapped routes from our position to Wistern's store, which is on the fifty-second level, as well as located the delivery address of the shipment. I assume it is Dverik's stronghold, given the tight security measures. Wistern will be delivering another shipment in four hours."

Quinlan clapped his hands together once. "Tech, you've got yourself a job."

"I am already a permanent member of this team."

" . . . You know what I mean."

Tech smirked. "Yes."

Hunter looked up, tapping a thoughtful finger against the tabletop. "We could hitch a ride in. This new shipment – is it being delivered by a speedertruck?"

"I have no data on that as of yet," said Tech. "However, I could attempt to locate all vehicles registered under Wistern's name . . ."

"Don't bother," said Quinlan. "He's probably outsourcing his work anyway, especially if his store's a big one."

"It is," said Tech. "The largest in the sector, as a matter of fact."

"Good. Here's the plan: we get to Wistern's place, break in or whatever, smuggle ourselves into Dverik's hideout, and go from there."

"You mean we're improvising," said Crosshair.

"Yeah. I'm great at it."

"So are we." Wrecker laughed. "When I improvise, it's usually with explosives! I'll bring some of the good ones."

"You do that." Quinlan got up from the table. "Now, we'll probably be followed at some point. It's always pretty dark on this moon, _and_ it's currently raining, which just adds to the problem, but there's nothing we can do about it except keep a sharp eye out, watch for ambushes, basic stuff like that."

"Right," said Hunter, sounding amused.

"We'll get disguised, split into two groups, leaving at five-minute intervals to avoid too much attention, and meet up near the Rimmer's Rest. Dverik's place is on the same level, so it's as good a starting point as any . . . Unless you have a better idea, Hunter?"

Hunter shook his head and got to his feet. "That _was_ my idea, except for the part where we split up. So far that hasn't worked well."

"I know . . . but we're too close to the Prince's place for me to be comfortable with being super obvious."

"That makes sense. Wrecker, you'll go with Vos this time." Hunter stretched and cracked his shoulders.

Tech flinched. "Hunter. . ."

"That way," Hunter said, speaking over him, "you can haul the Jedi out of trouble."

"Works for me," Wrecker said.

"Hey," protested Quinlan. "I got us out last time."

Crosshair stirred. "You got _us_ out?"

"Yeah. I distinctly remember that you were busy getting clobbered."

Crosshair narrowed his eyes. "Deadweight."

"Wasn't _my_ fault I got thrown into you." Quinlan hopped up from the table. "You were in the way. Well – let's go make ourselves look appropriately thuggish."

Before any of the others could respond, Quinlan sidled into the hall, grabbing his pack on the way, and jumped down the small hatch to the lower deck. He rummaged around in his sack until he located the skin-tone face paint he had used so often, and covered his tattoo with it. After putting on a long-sleeved undershirt, since it was always easier to hide when one was mostly in black, he swapped his Jedi tunic for a black one, then fastened it with a belt which held his two new vibroblades. He checked his hold-out blaster, slipped it into its holster, and slid that on the belt as well. Gloves, comlink, ration cubes, emergency stim shot and painkiller – all set.

Quinlan took a moment to stretch backwards and touch the floor, flinching at the ache in his ribs and shoulder. He'd checked, last night, and his ribs weren't cracked, but they were still significantly painful.

"Which is gonna be a _problem_ if I have to run or get into fistfights," he said to the ceiling. "Kind of inevitable, I guess."

He flipped over, landing in a crouch, and climbed back up the ladder.

A step sounded behind him. "Were you talking to yourself?"

"To the ceiling, actually. It's an old friend of mine." Quinlan stepped carefully off the ladder and turned to face Hunter.

The sergeant was dressed similarly to Quinlan, except that he'd exchanged his red bandana for a black one. He carried a pistol and his vibroknife, but not his blaster rifle.

"Hm," said Quinlan. "Not bad, but you should use some face paint. Or grease, grease works too."

"No," said Hunter. "That took forever to get out. I'll use the face paint."

Quinlan gestured to the ladder. "Help yourself."

Wrecker entered just as Hunter disappeared. He had chosen a heavy jacket instead of a tunic, and slung a pack over his shoulders. He _looked_ a lot more like a gangster than Hunter did, with his scars and his towering build, although Quinlan figured Hunter could probably act the better villain . . .

"This thuggish enough?" Wrecker asked, hooking his blaster to his belt.

"Yeah, just try to look mean," Quinlan advised.

Wrecker folded his arms and frowned, glaring at the Jedi. "Like this?"

Quinlan hummed. "Yes. . .? But kind of no."

Wrecker dropped his arms at his side. "That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't," affirmed Tech from the galley. He joined them in the hold, busily straightening his vest, which had multiple pockets down the front and along the sides. He had removed his knee guards, but still wore both pistols tied down.

Quinlan leaned against the wall. "You look like a gunslinger."

Tech ignored this random observation and fiddled with his goggles as though debating whether to remove them or not. After a moment, he jammed a fitted black cap over his head and turned up the edge. It didn't hide the goggles, but it made them look a little more like protective eyewear, rather than – whatever they really were. Maybe they _were_ protective eyewear, with infrared vision on the side. It didn't matter, since they looked like something a random criminal would wear.

Wrecker loomed up next to him. "Is this better?" he asked, grabbing Quinlan's arm and throat with either hand.

Quinlan jumped and pulled away. "What the heck."

Wrecker gave him a lopsided grin and let him go. "You said try to look meaner."

" . . . And now I've made amends," Quinlan acknowledged.

Crosshair entered the room, glanced sidelong at Tech, and reached over to tug his hat down over his goggles.

Tech ducked away and fixed the hat. "I like it," he defended, though Crosshair hadn't actually said anything.

"Hm," said Crosshair, sitting down on a crate to adjust his boots, which ended a couple of inches below his knees. "These are going to be useful."

Tech looked down at his own, which were identical. "They will suffice, though I find them a bit too high to run comfortably in."

Wrecker grinned. "That's only 'cause you're so short."

Tech drew himself up to his full height, which was still an inch less than Hunter's, and said, "I'm not _short._ "

"You are compared to me," Wrecker said.

Tech paused, unable to deny that fact but still ready to think up a scathing retort, just as Hunter's voice floated up from the lower deck. "If you guys start brawling . . ."

The three of them exchanged glances, then went back to their previous activities while Quinlan watched equitably from the sidelines.

"Glad to hear you listening," Hunter said.

Tech rolled his eyes.

Crosshair glided over to the weapons rack to get his rifle and slung it over one shoulder. He was wearing an outfit very similar to Hunter's – black tunic and pants over the blaster-resistant bodysuit that all clones owned – except that Crosshair had chosen a shorter tunic, and was wearing a bandolier filled with sniper clips over it, along with a belt holding a long, thin knife.

Quinlan nodded to it. "That one a vibroblade?"

"No," said Crosshair. He drew it between two fingers and held it out, hilt-first.

Quinlan reached for it with only an instant's hesitation. There was no sensation from it, no engraving, nothing to indicate a previous owner, but there was no way this was standard issue . . . or even commando issue. "Strange weapon," he said, returning it. "I'll bet it could go straight through durasteel without breaking."

Crosshair sheathed it. "Never used it," he said. "Hunter had it made on Nal Hutta."

"There were good craftsmen there," Hunter said, joining them. He tossed a jar of face paint to Crosshair. "Tattoo," he said, by way of explanation, then turned to glance over the others. "Okay, I think we're all set."

"Nal Hutta?" said Quinlan curiously. "Just a few days ago, you mean."

"Yeah," Hunter replied. "Wrecker and I replaced our own knives a long time ago, but Tech and Crosshair never use 'em, so they hadn't bothered." He headed to the door and tapped the control. "Never be without a _good_ knife. Right, Tech?"

"Yes, Hunter," said Tech absently, checking something on his datapad.

"Rule of life," agreed Quinlan, tapping the two at his waist. "Ready to head out, Wrecker?"

"Yep."

Hunter glanced at his chronometer. "All right, we'll secure the ship and follow you shortly."

* * *

Three hours later, Quinlan crouched behind a metal crate and peered out at the activity before him. It looked like Tech's intel was correct – the workers in this warehouse were busily loading speedertrucks with boxes of supplies while Wistern, a slightly stooped man with a confident bearing, directed them.

Quinlan put his back to the crate and commed Hunter. "They're about finished up here. You got that distraction ready?"

 _"Ready and waiting,"_ confirmed Hunter.

"Okay. . ." Quinlan peered around again. They had to get the timing just right. Too soon, and there would be supplies left to load, meaning that the stowaways might be discovered on the trucks. Too late, and the truck doors would be locked. "Wistern's moving out. . . Last few crates – now!"

A shrill alarm rang through the area, and Wistern rushed to a computer terminal and glanced at it. "Fire in Warehouse Three!" he shouted.

The workers rushed from the room towards the warehouse, which was, quite coincidentally, of course, where Wistern stored his fuel supplies.

Quinlan checked the area one more time, then ran for the side door. He skidded to a halt, unlocked and opened it, and waved the commandos in. "All right, let's go. We've only got a minute."

He locked the door behind them, and they hurried to the trucks, the alarm still ringing around them. Wrecker got in the last truck in the line, moved as far forward as he could, and crouched in an empty space beneath two tall crates. Hunter and Quinlan repositioned a third just in front of him, then moved on to the next vehicle.

This speedertruck was already loaded and ready, the doors left open only so that the loadmaster could check one last time before latching them, but Tech still managed to squirm his way backwards between the crates and the wall.

Crosshair hopped in with him and climbed into the narrow space between the crates and the ceiling. Quinlan shifted one of the lighter crates over a bit to keep him from view.

"Remember," Hunter said, leaning into the vehicle. "You two are the support for this mission. Don't move in unless necessary."

"Got it," said Tech, propping himself up on his elbows to use his datapad. "I'm setting all the comlinks to transmit automatically."

"Right." Quinlan adjusted his earpiece. "Hey, Wrecker, say something."

 _"Something,"_ Wrecker said obediently, then chortled.

"Okay, it's working," Quinlan reported, just as the alarm shut off abruptly.

Hunter and Quinlan ran for the foremost vehicle and jumped in, climbing over and around crates to reach the back. Quinlan dropped flat on the floor against the partition that separated the cab from the bed of the truck and cast a cautious look up at the crates in front of him. "If we stop fast . . ."

Hunter crouched beside him, surveying their surroundings. "Well . . . let's hope we've got a good driver."

"We should have made Wrecker get in this one," said Quinlan.

"Except we're scouting, and he isn't."

"Eh, good point." Quinlan sat up, put his back against the partition, and bent his knees. "Still, if this stuff crushes us, I'm suing for damage."

 _"Technically, you would be unable to,"_ Tech informed him.

"Thanks, I wasn't sure."

"They're coming back," warned Hunter. "Keep it down."

Quinlan heard annoyed voices, and then the slamming of a door as a speedertruck was sealed.

"Get these last crates in," ordered Wistern. "Dverik won't want these delivered late."

"I thought you said the fire alarm system was faultless," grumbled another voice.

"It was installed last week," said Wistern. "Shouldn't be anything wrong with it, but I'd rather deal with a false alarm than a fire."

A crate slammed onto the floor, and the deck vibrated.

"You sure we're gonna have enough room for all this?" asked a third person.

"If you loaded it right, yes. If you didn't – find a way, or reload it."

Hunter tensed and got to one knee. Quinlan slouched back against the partition and hoped they wouldn't shove the crates in too hard.

"Hey!" shouted the third voice. "Bring me that loader!"

Quinlan sighed. "We might have to move."

"Get up top?" whispered Hunter.

"Not unless we have to. They'll see us." Quinlan tilted his head, listening to a humming engine. "They're not going to bother reloading – they'll just shove the whole pile as far back as they can."

"Great." Hunter glanced at the partition and touched his knife, probably wondering whether he could cut through it. "How many more crates did they have to load again?"

Quinlan squinted. "Four."

 _"Have fun,"_ Crosshair interjected snidely.

Hunter glanced at Quinlan, and they both rolled their eyes.

The motor sped up, and the vibrating intensified. The crates squeaked forward, inch by inch. Quinlan got to his feet and reached for the top of one, ready to climb up the instant it became necessary. Hunter mirrored him, bracing one foot against the partition, and pushed off, hauling himself up on his elbows.

He dropped down to report, "They've got enough room."

Quinlan kicked backwards lightly, testing how much room he had left, as the crates kept moving. "Maybe you should tell them that?"

Hunter didn't have a chance to respond, because the crate he was hanging from skidded suddenly, as though breaking free from a rough area, and jolted him back. He lost his grip and fell, only a couple inches separating him from the metal container.

Quinlan twisted, hanging by one hand, and reached out with the Force.

The crate skidded again, slowing to a halt, but it had already pushed Hunter back against the partition. Quinlan dropped to the ground and extended both hands.

For a long, endless moment, he concentrated solely on the container, willing it to move back while the machine tried to push it forward. The crate he was behind jostled against him, but he couldn't lose his focus. Almost – almost –

The crate trapping Hunter jolted back ever so slightly, and Hunter slid sideways to join Quinlan. The moment he was safe, Quinlan released his hold.

That crate smashed against the partition with a _clang,_ while Hunter braced one foot against the second container in an attempt to keep it from crushing them. Quinlan leaned his back against the crate and braced his feet on the partition, struggling against the pressing weight while the machine's motors whirred. He would need to use the Force again –

"Stop straining that machine!" yelled someone.

The whirring stopped abruptly, and Quinlan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He straightened, wincing at the loud crack his knees made, as Hunter slowly stood upright.

"Something's in the way of this row," protested another voice.

"So? Do you have enough room to put the supplies in?"

"Well – yeah, but the two rows should be even. The crates were identical!"

Something rustled around, and then another crate slammed down on the floor.

"Just get the supplies loaded before Dverik breaks off the deal, will you?" Wistern cut in. "As long as they fit, you're good."

"Thank the Force for idiots," whispered Quinlan fervently.

Hunter huffed a breathless laugh.

The last crate was loaded, and the doors banged shut, cutting off most of the light.

 _"You all set?"_ muttered Wrecker.

"We're fine," Hunter said, tilting his head sideways to crack his neck. "Bit of a tight fit, is all."

The trucks rumbled to life and started moving.

 _"I'm tracking our progress,"_ reported Tech. _"I'll let you know when we get close to our destination."_

"Okay," said Hunter.

Quinlan glanced up. ". . . I'm still worried about the driver stopping fast."

There was a short silence.

"Thanks," said Hunter.

"Just being realistic. We could always climb up top, but –"

"No, I meant thanks for the save."

"Oh." Quinlan reached up for the edge of the crate. There wouldn't be enough room between the crate and the ceiling to ride up there without hitting his head every time the speedertruck jolted. "Yeah, no big deal."

Hunter glanced at him, barely visible in the faint light that shone through the slits in the roof. "It would probably be more of a big deal if you were the one who'd been inches from getting flattened."

"But I wasn't," Quinlan said flippantly, feeling strangely uncomfortable with the sincere gratitude in the clone's voice. "Mind getting your elbow out of my ribs?"

Hunter tried to move aside, but promptly hit his other elbow on the crate. "Not much room to move. . ."

Quinlan snorted and twisted, putting his back against the sliver of wall. "Yeah, we've got only a little elbow room."

There was a brief, scandalized pause, and then Wrecker laughed.

 _"That was terrible,"_ Tech felt the need to inform him.

 _"It was perfect!"_ protested Wrecker.

 _"Shut up,"_ said Crosshair. _"He's bad enough – you're just encouraging him."_

"I can hear you," Quinlan said.

The sniper's voice sounded particularly smug when he answered. _"I know."_

". . . Oh."


	23. Change of Plans

Hunter checked his chronometer. They'd been in motion for nearly a quarter of an hour, but Dverik's place was supposed to be relatively close to Wistern's, which meant they were probably traveling slowly. Or Dverik had more than one place . . . _Wait, didn't Chopa give Tech information on that?_

He slid his sleeve back over his chronometer. "Tech, are we headed to a different address than the one Chopa gave you?"

 _"Yes,"_ Tech said. _"The building Chopa told me about is on the market level, and is a sort of outpost for Dverik . . . I'm sorry. I should have informed you."_

"Details are important," Hunter said mildly.

Tech was silent for a few moments, and sounded faintly embarrassed when he spoke again. _"We are nearing Dverik's fortress."_

"Oh, good," Vos said. "Hey, wait . . . why'd you call it a fortress?"

_"It is quite large."_

There was a rustling sound over the comms, and then Crosshair said, _"It's a lot bigger than 'quite large'."_

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Bigger than the Prince's place?"

 _"Yes,"_ said Tech. _"That is, if my previous calculations were correct."_

They usually were, so Hunter decided to go with that estimation. "Which level is Dverik on, anyway? Fifty?"

 _"I don't know,"_ said Tech.

Quinlan looked up. "I thought you had the address before now?"

 _"I did."_ Tech sounded a bit piqued. _"But Wistern was given the address of the building only, not the level . . ."_

"You're patched into the pilot's comlink?" Hunter asked.

_"Yes. Nothing yet."_

"Okay." Hunter looked over at the Jedi, who was attempting to slouch and failing miserably, due to the lack of space. "Hopefully we'll land in a storage area."

"Tell me about it. It's always easier to hide when you've got a million boxes and crates around."

Hunter raised an eyebrow in agreement. "Here's the plan, Bad Batch: once we land, we'll secure ground zero. Then Vos and I will go in and scout around. Wrecker, you'll stay ready in case we need help. Crosshair and Tech, you're the backup and support."

 _"Affirmative,"_ said Crosshair. _"We'll stay out of sight."_

The hum of the speedertruck's engine lowered in pitch as it slowed.

 _"We are switching airlanes,"_ Tech reported. _"One moment. The pilot is receiving a transmission."_

Everyone waited in silence until Tech spoke again. _"She was told to unload the merchandise on level thirty-two, which, incidentally, is the highest level of the building."_

The speedertruck suddenly tilted into a sharp decline, and Vos cast a nervous look at the crate, which was inching its way towards them as the descent continued.

"Okay . . ." said Vos, putting his back to the partition and his feet against the container. "Guess Dverik was a lot farther down than we thought."

Hunter braced himself against the crate as well. "Does that mean anything?"

"Yeah. His influence is wider than I'd anticipated. I thought he was just controlling one or two levels of the sector near the airfield."

 _"So . . ."_ Wrecker paused. _"You mean he's controlling all the levels from here on up to the market level?"_

"Or even more, below the thirty-second level – ugh." The crate slid an inch towards them. "Come on, how fast is she taking this descent?"

 _"Faster than I would,"_ said Tech. _"Which, admittedly, is saying –"_

 _"Tech, move!"_ Crosshair's voice cut in.

Hunter found himself listening intently to the brief rustling and scraping that followed. "Tech?"

Tech sounded a bit breathless when he answered. _"This could be problematic."_

"The fast dive?" Hunter grunted, his shoulders aching against the continued strain.

_"That, and the fact that Crosshair and I are now visible from the doors. The crate on top just slid down into the opening where I'd been hiding."_

"Can you move it back?" Hunter asked. "Wrecker, you doing okay?"

 _"We can try,"_ said Crosshair.

 _"I'm still good,"_ said Wrecker. _"Want me to get out first?"_

"No, wait until –"

The speeder abruptly pulled out of its dive, then tilted upward. Hunter caught his balance, but Quinlan ended up faceplanting against the crate. He jolted upright, clutching at his nose. "What the heck is wrong with this pilot?"

 _"She had to pull up to avoid a group of speeders,"_ Tech said.

"Oh." The Jedi released his nose. "We on level thirty-two yet?"

_"Yes."_

Muffled sounds of banging and wood on metal came over the comlink, and then Crosshair said, _"We can't lift the crate to the top. We'll move it forward and stay behind it."_

"Right." Hunter turned to Vos. "We're going to have to move fast. Are you sure this'll be the first one unloaded?"

"It's the first in line," Quinlan said with a shrug. "Beyond that, I can't tell."

The line was silent, with the exception of a faint sound which Hunter thought was Tech typing.

 _"Oh,"_ said Tech. _"Hm."_

Everyone waited, but Tech did not elaborate.

"Tech?" Hunter asked. "Care to fill us in?"

_"Yes. Sorry. When I said that Dverik's place was large, I meant that it occupied more space, laterally, than the Prince's warehouse. However, I traced the comlink used to contact the driver and was able to slice into the majordomo's system. Dverik owns four consecutive levels of the building: the thirty-second down through the twenty-ninth."_

"That's definitely good to know," said Quinlan. "Who lives directly beneath him?"

 _"Hm . . . One moment . . ."_ Tech paused. _"No one. Two levels beneath him have been entirely sealed off."_

"What about the lifts?"

_"There are two, but they do not appear to be running. The shafts may have been blocked off as well."_

"Fun." The Jedi felt for his knives. "Hope we don't have to fight our way up too many stairways. Hey, I think we're landing."

At that exact moment, the speedertruck settled with a bump.

 _"The majordomo is talking to the driver,"_ reported Tech. _". . . He's telling her to get the supplies unloaded as soon as possible. Dverik is sending men to help her and the other two drivers. . . The drivers are approaching your truck."_

"Okay, then we're out of here," said Quinlan. He scrambled to the top of the crates and lay flat. "Hunter – look sharp."

Hunter was halfway up before he'd finished speaking. "They're going to see us."

"Nah. Trust me, we're in black, they're bored with the job and just want to get it over with so they can leave."

That . . . was not actually reassuring. Still, Hunter wasn't the one who regularly performed infiltrations, so he hoped that Vos knew what he was talking about.

The back doors opened and swung down to form a short ramp.

"All right," said a sharp feminine voice. "Get this stuff out of here."

"Where does Dverik want it?" asked a man.

"He didn't say. Just put it in a pile outside the landing zone."

Quinlan crawled forward on his elbows, and Hunter did the same. They were only a couple of meters away from the door, but the two men, who were busy struggling with a large crate, didn't look up.

The woman stood at the base of the ramp, watching them and tapping her fingers impatiently on her belt.

Beside Hunter, Quinlan whispered under his breath.

The woman's fingers stopped tapping, and she glanced away as though she'd heard something. "You know what," she said. "While you guys unload, I'm going to pick up our credits from Dverik."

"Make sure he doesn't short-change us," grunted one man. "Wistern'll be furious."

"I know my business." She left at a brisk walk.

Hunter glanced to one side. The Jedi's eyes glittered intently as he watched her leave. He remained motionless for nearly half a minute before reaching out a hand.

The crate being lifted overbalanced and fell, hitting the edge of the ramp. One of the men cursed, and the other lifted a comlink. "Hey, where are those workers?"

 _"You have less than a minute until they arrive,"_ Tech said.

The man was still speaking. "Well, tell 'em to hurry up!" He cut the connection and stomped down the ramp.

"You'd think a guy as rich as Dverik would at least have a loader nearby," grumbled the other driver, following him.

He hadn't even disappeared when Hunter crawled to the edge of the crate pile. He and the Jedi swung quietly down, dropped to the floor behind the fallen container, and glanced to either side.

"Clear," whispered the Jedi. "Stay close."

They reached the second truck in a short dash and took cover behind it.

"Do we get the others out now?" asked Hunter.

"Wait – we need a good hiding area."

From what Hunter could see, there were plenty of good areas around. The entire loading dock was filled with disorganized piles of boxes and crates and barrels. The doors which opened into the airlane were wide open, letting in the rain, which glistened in the light cast out from the room.

Another door hissed open across the room, and a group of people entered the room. "Hey! Wistern?" called one.

"He's not here," replied a driver. "You the guys Dverik sent to help unload?"

"Yeah. Don't you have a loader or something?"

"Don't _you?"_

"It's on a different level."

"Whatever," said another voice. "Get to work."

As a mild argument broke out, Quinlan tapped Hunter's arm. "Once they open this truck, we'll wait for them to move off with their crates. I'll make sure they stay distracted while you get Crosshair and Tech over to that side of the room."

Hunter followed his gaze. "Got it."

They ducked further into cover as two men walked by on their way to the first truck.

"What exactly _are_ we doing, Vos?" Hunter asked. "We can't just walk in and shoot Dverik."

"We _can,"_ started Quinlan, then smirked at Hunter's sharp look. "I mean, we're capable of it."

 _"He's not wrong,"_ Crosshair commented.

 _"Technically, he is not,"_ said Tech. _"Morally, he is. We can't just –"_

"He knows, Tech," interrupted Hunter.

 _"Oh. Right."_ Tech sounded a little uncomfortable.

"Actually," the Jedi continued, suddenly serious again. "I initially had the idea that we'd just cause problems – start enough non-literal fires to keep him busy with putting them out instead of expanding his territory . . . but I had no idea he already controlled so much."

 _"What now, then?"_ Crosshair asked. _"Kidnap and scare Dverik into backing off?"_

Quinlan looked up, a glint of interest entering his eyes.

Hunter intervened before he could answer. "We can have Tech look through his security for a start. We aren't going in without some sort of plan."

* * *

It was well over an hour later when the last of the workmen left the room, shutting off the main lights but leaving the glowpanels around the ceiling's perimeter on. Quinlan relaxed his stance and leaned past Tech to watch as the three speedertrucks vibrated to life and flew out into the rain.

Once the loading dock doors rumbled shut, the warehouse was utterly silent.

"Scanning for lifeforms," whispered Tech. "We're clear."

"Finally," grunted Wrecker. He got haltingly to his feet and stretched. "Being still for that long always makes me stiff."

Crosshair, who looked perfectly relaxed despite not having moved a muscle in the last hour, smirked and got up easily. "Maybe you should take up sniping."

Hunter shot him a warning look and said, "How about security, Tech?"

"No cameras in the loading dock."

Quinlan hopped up to sit on a crate and swung his feet a few times to get the blood flowing again. "Tech, how long will it take you to get into his main system?"

"I'm already in it, but I prefer working with a hard connection."

"There's a terminal over there," Crosshair said, gesturing towards a shadowed area of the room. Quinlan couldn't see a terminal, but Tech trotted off without hesitation.

"Any idea what we're looking for?" Hunter asked.

"Not yet." Quinlan shrugged. "In fact, I'm really having second thoughts about this, but it's too late now."

Wrecker looked at him. "Why?"

Quinlan twisted his mouth to one side. "Well, I'm having second thoughts because Dverik's probably got a lot more guards than I'd figured on, and I'm not exactly sure how to cause grief for him; and it's too late because we're already in his fortress, so leaving without causing grief would be a waste of time and effort."

Hunter leaned an elbow against the nearest crate. "We're not on a time limit, as such. We can do this the loud way or the quiet way."

"Let's do the loud way!" Wrecker said.

Crosshair sniffed. "You would say that."

"Yeah, because I _hate_ all this sneaking around." Wrecker poked Crosshair hard in the shoulder, as if to emphasize his point.

Crosshair slapped his hand away. Wrecker grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back to shove him against a crate. Crosshair elbowed him hard in the ribs with his free arm, and Wrecker yelped.

Hunter folded his arms and sighed dramatically. "Are you done?"

They stepped apart and cast sideways glares at each other, but said nothing.

"Good," said Hunter. "Now, listen up. Vos and I are going to scout around. Wrecker and Crosshair, I want you to work with Tech for a bit. Look at the schematics, come up with ideas. I don't care what kind."

"Understood." Crosshair wandered off in Tech's direction, and the others followed.

As they walked, Quinlan glanced up at Wrecker. "Wrecker, stay ready – we might need backup."

The big clone grinned and cracked his knuckles loudly. "Just say when!"

Quinlan gave him a thumbs-up. He hoped they wouldn't need to call Wrecker for help, because if they needed help it would _probably_ already be too late. Oh, well. He'd gotten himself into this one.

When he reached the terminal, Quinlan drummed his fingers on Tech's shoulder, making him jump. "Hey. Got anything yet?"

Tech adjusted his goggles and held up his datapad, which was wired into the terminal. "I have the building schematics. The security is quite good, but nothing I can't get through, given enough time."

"Well . . ." Quinlan glanced at his chronometer. "That's the one thing we've got plenty of. As long as no one sets off an alarm or anything."

"Everyone, run a comms check," Hunter ordered. "We'll keep the channel open."

Quinlan obeyed, testing the connection of the small earpiece he wore, then raised an eyebrow at Hunter. "Ready?"

The sergeant nodded. "Split, or stay together?"

"Stay together for now." Quinlan headed for the door. "There's less chance of our being discovered if we're just another team of bounty hunters."

"Right. Tech, keep us updated on security measures."

Quinlan stepped out of the loading dock and directly into a wide room furnished with a bar, tables and chairs, neon lights . . . even a carpet. "Guess this is Dverik's private cantina."

"And no one's in it," Hunter answered. "Vos . . . this is the highest level of Dverik's stronghold, which means he probably lives up here."

"Exactly what I was thinking." Quinlan set off at a brisk walk, leaving Hunter to follow him. "So, the question is, what's our objective?"

Hunter let out his breath with a huff. "Remind me why we didn't we plan this out before coming?"

"Not enough data." Quinlan snapped his fingers impatiently at his side. "If I really wanted to infiltrate and take him down, I'd spend weeks on this assignment. Maybe get hired as one of his hitmen."

"You like that tactic," Hunter observed as they stepped into a dark, carpeted hall.

"Yeah." Quinlan touched the wall lightly, but it told him nothing. "Being able to walk in and out of a place at will is important."

 _"Be careful,"_ Tech said. _"You're coming up on a hall that doesn't lead anywhere, and there are security cameras ever few meters. I could shut them down."  
_ "Not yet," said Quinlan. "If things go wrong, you can take out security to your heart's content. Until then, we don't want to raise suspicion. Any doors unlocked?"

_"Only one, at the very end. If you want to get anywhere else in this level, you'd have to go through one of the locked doors."_

"Okay." Quinlan led the way straight past the cameras, then turned through the unlocked door. This room appeared to be an office of some sort, except that the desk was dust-covered and there were no other furnishings.

Quinlan looked interestedly around. Dverik didn't seem to have found a use for this room – maybe he'd just moved in? Moving quickly around the small area, Quinlan brushed his fingers over the desk, the covered window, the edge of the door. Nothing.

"We haven't seen anyone," said Hunter, who seemed on edge. Not that he _looked_ on edge – in fact, he looked bored. But Quinlan was excellent at observing and at noticing little details like the cadences of voices, and he'd bet a hundred credits that Hunter was nervous.

"Better for us," Quinlan said. He couldn't blame Hunter – he was a little on edge himself.

"Maybe," said Hunter. "If it doesn't turn out that they've been watching us all along, just waiting to ambush us."

Quinlan turned to look at him. "That's happened before?"

"Half a dozen times."

"Huh." He brushed his hands free of dust. "Well, in this case, everyone's probably out terrorizing the . . . what, twenty-four different levels that Dverik probably has control of?"

 _"Many of them are out on jobs,"_ affirmed Tech. _"There is more activity in the floors beneath you, however."_

"Okay." Quinlan rested his hands on his waist and considered. "Let's get to work with some good, old-fashioned sabotage."

"Right here?" Hunter looked dubious. "What's there to sabotage?"

"The floor."

A gleam of realization flickered in the commando's eyes. "What's beneath us?"

"Well, hopefully it's another room and not a long, empty shaft."

Hunter smirked. "Tech?"

_"It is a room, and there are no lifesigns present."_

Wrecker cut in. _"What are you doing, anyway?"_

"Winging it," said Quinlan. "Hunter?"

Lightsabers were much faster than vibroblades when it came to cutting through metal, but Quinlan wasn't in much a rush. That, and he didn't _have_ his lightsaber.

He and the sergeant knelt, using the outside wall as a reference, and set to work cutting in opposite directions.

It took nearly five minutes, but at last they had a square in the floor, and the metal was held in place only by its roughened edges.

Quinlan sheathed his knife and kicked the panel out. Dropping to his stomach, he leaned into the room beneath, glancing around. When he saw nothing, he gripped the edge and somersaulted down.

Hunter dropped soundlessly to the floor beside him. "Are we going to keep that as our getaway?"

"Yep. Always better if we can exit in a direction they don't expect us to."

 _"You sound like you expect to be caught,"_ Wrecker said doubtfully.

Quinlan sauntered toward the next door. "Always prepare for the worst, and then you won't be surprised when it happens."

 _"Is that a Jedi saying?"_ Tech inquired.

 _"No,"_ said Crosshair. _"It's a Quinlan Vos saying."_

Quinlan blinked and covered his transmitter. "Hunter, how does he know that?"

* * *

For the three commandos in the loading dock, the next hour and a half passed very slowly. Crosshair switched his rifle from one hand to the other and glanced at Tech, who was providing occasional updates to Hunter in between looking over schematics with Wrecker.

Ever since they'd move down to the third level, Hunter and Vos had been silent, apart from the occasional whispered comment or question. They hadn't said anything in nearly five minutes, so they must have reached a more heavily populated area of the fortress.

Wrecker got up and looked at Crosshair. "See anything new?"

Crosshair shook his head and went back to the wide doors which opened onto the airway. He'd discovered a tiny viewport in one panel about half an hour ago, and since then he'd been looking outside every few minutes. It was crowded in the loading dock, and looking outside gave him a sense of space.

 _"Hey,"_ said Vos suddenly. _"Hunter, take a look."_

 _". . . Okay, we found him,"_ Hunter replied.

"Dverik?" Tech asked.

 _"Yep."_ The Jedi sounded slightly wary. _"He's a freaking Devaronian."_

Crosshair tilted his head. "Something wrong with that?"

_"Well, I admit I was kind of hoping for a weak-kneed human . . . I've had my share of run-ins with these guys and being a Jedi only goes so far. Devaronians have a lot more mass than humans, so getting punched by one feels like getting hit by a speeder."_

_"I won't ask how you know that,"_ Hunter said.

Crosshair smirked.

Tech tapped his datapad, as though hoping that would change what was on the display. "Are you standing there _talking_ about him when he's in plain view?"

 _"He's in the next room,"_ said Hunter. _"We're pulling back to an empty room."_

Tech watched his display with narrowed eyes, then nodded in satisfaction.

Wrecker twisted from side to side, cracking his spine obnoxiously. "You want me to come join you now?"

 _"Depends,"_ said Hunter. _"Vos, you want to hold him at gunpoint and terrify him into leaving the planet?"_

 _"Nah, that wouldn't work . . ."_ Vos sighed. _"He's powerful, probably got a whole bunch of tricks and traps ready . . . I'll bet he could take both of us with no problem."  
_ Vos was underestimating Hunter, but Crosshair decided not to say that. "Do we have any other options?"

_"I mean, we could rob him blind so he can't pay his guys, and then they'll hopefully jump ship. It'll at least put a crimp in his day."_

Tech rolled his eyes. "That would take a significant amount of time, and we have no assurance that his men would leave. It won't really help Chopa and the others."

 _"Look,"_ said the Jedi. _"I want to help, too, but like I said earlier: infiltrating and taking down guys like Dverik takes weeks – months, even."_

 _"He's right, Tech,"_ said Hunter. _"We don't have that kind of time right now. We can at least inconvenience him, though. What did you guys end up figuring out?"_

Wrecker took the datapad and switched to a different screen. "I've got six places marked for explosives – won't take the building down, but it'll cause a lot of damage."

"Yes," said Tech. "Fortunately for us, he is on the top floors. I have also located two master terminals, either of which I could use to slice into his personal system. I could cause a good deal of damage from there, including wiping all the data he has on the citizens."

 _"I like that idea,"_ said Vos.

 _"Same."_ Hunter paused thoughtfully. _"Crosshair, what about you?"_

Crosshair set down his rifle and motioned for the datapad, then flicked through screens until he found the schematic he'd been working on. "Don't have any plans, but I've memorized the layout of the levels."

 _"All four of them?"_ Vos sounded impressed.

Crosshair rolled his eyes and didn't answer.

 _"Okay,"_ said Hunter. He'd know that Crosshair had already noted all the possible escape routes. _"Wrecker, you head down to us and set explosives on the first and second levels – they should still be empty."_

Wrecker grinned. "Be with you shortly, Sarge! I mean, Hunter."

He barreled gleefully out the room, happy to be destroying something. Crosshair sat down beside Tech and watched over his shoulder for a moment, but Tech was overlaying and transferring and working so fast that he couldn't figure out what he was trying to do.

 _"First one set,"_ said Wrecker. _"I hid it, too."_

 _"Good,"_ said Vos. _"I'm thinking we'll –"_

He broke off.

Crosshair was on his feet in an instant. "Hunter?"

 _"We're in trouble,"_ said Hunter quietly. _"Dverik just walked in."_

And they'd had no warning. So much for Jedi and their Force powers. "What do you want us to do?"

 _"Stay out of sight. Tell Wrecker to back off."_ Hunter was speaking so quietly that Crosshair could scarcely hear him, which meant that Wrecker wouldn't have heard. Just as well – he'd have gone rushing down.

Crosshair jerked his head towards the doors.

Tech nodded. "Wrecker, we have a new plan, but Crosshair and I will need your help up here."

 _"Okay!"_ Wrecker replied. _"Just finished setting the second explosive. Want me to do the others before coming back?"_

"No," said Tech.

Crosshair scarcely heard him, too intent on listening to whatever was going on at Hunter's end of things.

 _"I'm cutting comms,"_ said Hunter, and then there a sharp, distinct crackle – he'd crushed his comlink.

Crosshair stalked to the door and kept watch for Wrecker, coolly drawing inferences from what he knew of the situation despite the seething impatience in his chest. Hunter _never_ cut comms. Either Vos had another of his brilliant ideas, or Hunter didn't want Dverik to find out about the rest of the team.

"That means he expects to be captured," he said aloud.

Tech joined him, staring out into the empty hallway with a guilty frown on his face. "I only looked away from the lifesign scans for a moment."

Crosshair didn't say anything. Tech couldn't have known that Dverik would choose that exact moment to move, but saying it wouldn't change matters, or even make Tech feel better.

Tech shifted worriedly and glanced down at his datapad, which he'd removed from the terminal. "I can't see them now. Something's interfering."

A faint whisper of sound from his earpiece caught Crosshair's attention, and he tilted his head. "Tech, boost the receiver's signal."

Tech obeyed silently.

 _" . . . but two visitors?"_ A deep, amused voice crackled in and out slightly, but was still audible. Vos had not gotten rid of his comm.

Wrecker entered the hall and waved to them. "What's going on?"

Gesturing impatiently for Tech to explain the situation, Crosshair ran into the hallway, away from his companions' voices and closer to the signal's source. Skidding to a halt, he pressed two fingers to his earpiece and listened intently.

 _"What do you intend to do now?"_ Dverik asked.

Vos' snide voice came through next. _"When you're done gloating, you can tell me to drop my weapons. Then I'll refuse, then you'll try to hit me, and then my buddy here will stick his own oversized excuse for a_ toothpick _into your back. After that, the rest of the moon will thank us for ridding it of y –"_

Crosshair held his breath as Vos' voice faded into a surge of static. The odd stress the Jedi had placed on the word 'toothpick' – somehow, Vos knew Crosshair was listening, and . . . what? Was he trying to give an order? A warning?

Wrecker said something in a demanding tone, and Crosshair vaguely overheard Tech hushing him. He resisted the urge to snap at them to _be quiet._

Dverik was speaking again. _"What if . . . and then you can . . . hired you."_

_"You'll know soon en . . . plenty of members . . . wish you hadn't . . . us."_

Plenty of members, otherwise known as three commandos with very little idea of what was actually going on. And if Vos was trying to scare the Devaronian into not killing them, it didn't seem to be working.

Tech ran up to him, hastily typing away, and boosted the signal again.

To his surprise, Hunter's voice came in clearly. _"Are we taking him?"_

Vos didn't answer, but he must have signaled, because a flurry of sound erupted on the other end. Wrecker joined them, holding his blaster ready as he kept watch on the hallway.

"There are more," whispered Tech, signaling at his datapad. Five tiny red dots wavered in and out of focus next to the two green dots that marked the others' position.

A sharp screech of static made Crosshair wince as something – probably a stun pulse – passed too close to Vos' transmitter. It cut off abruptly . . . _all_ the sound cut off abruptly.

"Is it dead?" Crosshair muttered.

"No," said Tech. "The signal's still alive."

They exchanged dark looks.

 _"Well,"_ said Dverik, much louder this time. _"You gambled and you lost."_

 _"Drop dead,"_ Vos began in a strangled voice, then broke off with a gasp. _"Our odds were fine until you brought in your thugs."_

 _"Take them down to the holding area,"_ Dverik directed. _"Search them for any further weapons. I'll keep these. Once I locate your employer, humans, I'll return them to him – in your bodies."_

 _"Just remember, two of them are mine,"_ Vos informed him. _"Don't mix them up. They cost a lot of money."_

 _"Good,"_ said Dverik, his voice growing fainter. _"I'll make sure_ you're _returned to your employer with_ both _knives."_

Tech tilted his head, looking confused. "Is Hunter with him?" he whispered.

Crosshair shrugged.

 _"Come on!"_ ordered a new voice, and faint sounds of shuffling broke out, followed by a muffled curse.

 _"Scan them,"_ said the voice.

Crosshair narrowed his eyes. "Vos. Can you respond?"

A quiet tap was the only reply.

Good enough. "Is Hunter with you?"

Another tap.

Crosshair hesitated, unsure of what to ask next. "Tech's tracking your position. We'll get you out."

Two taps.

"Yes, we will," Tech hissed.

There was a short pause. _"Dangerous,"_ whispered the Jedi.

"Didn't stop you," Crosshair said. "Don't tell me you think you can get out alone."

_". . . Maybe?"_

"Encouraging," Crosshair said bitingly. "We're coming down, but it might take us a while. We're going to give Dverik something to chase after first. Can you keep your comlink on?"

There was a soft rustle, and then Vos whispered, _"I don't think so. They're searching Hunter now – I just hid the link in a vase."_

"I can't track you any further," warned Tech.

_"Lowest level's where we're headed. Don't get caught."_

_"Dverik hit this one too hard,"_ said a female voice scornfully. _"Look, he's talking to himself."_

 _"You sure he's not talking to someone?"_ asked a distant voice.

_"No, I just scanned him. He's clean."_

Vos sighed in a world-weary manner. _"No need to get excited, lady, I was just keeping myself company –"_ There was a thud, and he broke off with a pained grunt, then wheezed, _"You hit like a girl."_

The last thing Crosshair heard before Vos was dragged off was another blow. The Jedi didn't seem to know to keep quiet. Or perhaps he didn't care.

Crosshair turned to his teammates. Tech was staring at his datapad and biting his lip, and Wrecker kept shifting his blaster from one hand to the other.

"What now?" Wrecker muttered.

Crosshair swung around and paced back to the loading dock. "Now, we set up our base of operations."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a lot happier with how Crosshair's POV turned out this time. :)
> 
> In other news, I'm working on another Misadventure, which will hopefully be out this weekend. Quinlan Vos and Delta Squad! :)


	24. Rescue Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week, I told you guys I'd designed Dverik's character without deciding on his species, right? Well, I just realized I lied. . .
> 
> Remember what Chopa told Tech about Dverik? "He is a human . . . I cannot give you much help as to his appearance – you humans look so much alike to me. Though he does have a strange orange mark on his left wrist."
> 
> Wow. I definitely get idiot points for that one.
> 
> Anyway, after I was done introducing my forehead to the desk, I realized there was an easy fix. In the last chapter, it turns out that Chopa thought he knew where Dverik lived, but it was only an outpost. So, Chopa also thought he was dealing with Dverik, when it was really one of his top gang leaders. (They've all got matching tattoos.)
> 
> Let's just pretend I intended that from the beginning, okay? ;D

Quinlan rolled his eyes when he saw the row of holding cells. "Seriously?" he complained. "Dark, dingy rooms with metal bars on the doors – kinda old-fashioned, don't you think?"

A Trandoshan guard hit him across the shoulders with the barrel of his rifle.

"Ow."

Hunter, looking dizzy and disoriented, cast him a brief look of disbelief, and Quinlan shrugged, falsely apologetic.

The female Weequay in front of them stopped at the second cell door and unlocked it. "Alright, in you go."

Hunter's guard shoved him inside.

The Trandoshan forced Quinlan towards the door, and he braced himself briefly, raising an eyebrow as he studied the room. "Oh, wow, you've got water dripping from that pipe and everything. Classic."

A hard shove sent him reeling against the opposite wall, and the door boomed shut.

Quinlan returned to the door and leaned against the bars. "Tell Dverik his security's bad, okay?" he yelled after them. "Thanks! A damaged pit droid could get through this lock!"

A second door slammed.

Quinlan examined the lock. It was true – a damaged pit droid _could_ probably get through it without trouble – but Quinlan was not a pit droid.

More to the point, the guards had found and taken his electronic probe, which he usually used on locks.

Finished with his observations, he turned to Hunter, who was sitting cross-legged near the wall, looking ill but otherwise alive. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." Hunter rubbed at the side of his head. "What about the –?"

Quinlan's sharp hiss of warning cut him off. "You never know who's listening," he whispered. "Give me a sec."

He examined the first wall carefully, searching for any sign that listening devices had been planted nearby.

"There's nothing," said Hunter.

"Oh?" Quinlan eyed him. "You can, uh, 'see' that kind of thing?"

"For lack of a better word – sometimes, yeah."

Quinlan thought about it. "That's neat."

Hunter snorted. "So, what about the others? Thought I saw you talking to them."

"I was." Quinlan dropped into a cross-legged position. "I told Crosshair not to come get us out."

" . . . I'm guessing that didn't work."

"Nope." Quinlan stretched painfully. "I dunno how he and the others intend to free us, though. I mean, they know which level we're on, and Tech's got my comlink's last position marked, but that's all."

Hunter shook his head. "Hope they don't get themselves caught. How did we even walk into that one, Vos?"

"I don't know. We should have pulled back farther or attacked Dverik right away. I feel like a complete idiot."

Hunter, very kindly, did not agree with him – at least, not out loud. "No," he said. "I meant how did we get beaten so fast?"

"I can't give you the play by play . . ." He squinted. "But Dverik got backup within the first three seconds of the fight. Then he whacked me, and then some numskull got you with a stun round, so that was probably a big factor."

"That shot barely skimmed me." Hunter sounded disgusted. "None of the others would even have noticed it."

"Yeah, well . . . any special ability has its downsides."

Hunter glanced at him, then smirked. "You mean like your ability to keep annoying people? Downside seems to be you get hit a lot."

"I was actually thinking more along the lines of my psychometry." Quinlan got up and twisted slightly to one side. "But – yeah, that too."

They were silent for several long minutes before Hunter said, "I don't suppose there's any way you can get through this door."

"Not realistically." Quinlan's shoulders were still aching from that last blow, so he leaned back and touched the ground. Not surprisingly, it didn't help. Still upside down, he added, "Even if I could somehow blow it off its hinges, we'd still have to break through that big door at the end, and _then_ we'd have to get past all the guards, and _then . . ."_

Hunter eyed the thin metal pipe that ran along the outer wall. "We could break that off and try breaking the lock's control panel."

"Good idea," said Quinlan, straightening up. "But it's not worth it."

Hunter folded his arms, tilting his head questioningly. "We should at least give it a shot. Maybe we can meet the others half way."

"Uh, no. If we get caught, we'll be moved or put under heavier guard, or both – but not until _after_ we've been beaten half to death, which . . . is obviously problematic. And it would make the others' job a lot harder."

Hunter gave him a wry look. "Speaking from experience?"

"Some things you just don't forget." Quinlan paced from one end of the cell to the other. "And I'd rather be bored than dead. Speaking of which, we need to decide what we're going to tell Dverik."

Hunter shook his head once, probably trying to figure out how being dead reminded Quinlan of speaking to Dverik. He apparently thought better of it, though, because he leaned back on his hands and said, "What do you mean?"

"He's bound to ask us who our employer is. Our stories need to match."

"But why do we need to answer him at all?"

Quinlan stopped and turned to face him. "You're kidding."

". . . No." Hunter gave him a confused look. "Primary interrogation protocol: don't acknowledge the interrogator."

"Seriously?" Quinlan appealed to the ceiling. "You know what, this whole mission, I keep feeling like I'm teaching a bunch of padawans."

Hunter raised a dangerous eyebrow. " _I_ keep feeling like I'm dealing with a cadet instead of a general."

Quinlan flopped to the floor. "Okay, but – Hunter. We are _hired bounty hunters._ We have no loyalty to anything except money and ourselves."

"You think we should answer his questions."

"Yeah, kind of intermittently. He'll only keep us alive if he thinks we've got more information." He smirked complacently. "But we've got one good thing in our favor. We never saw our employer's face. Therefore, we can easily mislead him."

"Right," said Hunter, leaning sideways against the wall. "You know what, Vos, I think I'll just let you do the talking."

* * *

Crosshair set his rifle on a crate and stared at it for a moment. He had never directed a mission before. He was the one Hunter sent to scout, or to cover the rest of the team while they completed the objectives and retreated.

"Hey, Cross," said Wrecker uncertainly. "How are we supposed to get 'em out?"

Crosshair frowned. He had no real answer, but saying that would hardly help anything. "Tech? We'll need every bit of information you can get."

"I'm already on it," replied Tech. "This will take a few minutes to compile. Do you want me to infiltrate their security?"

"Might as well." Crosshair folded his arms and turned to face the others. "Might be simplest to shut the whole place down and get them to come after us."

"Sounds good to me!" Wrecker agreed.

Tech pursed his lips. "Well – it would be effective, but it sounds unnecessarily dangerous. What if Dverik has some backup safety protocols that we are unaware of?"

"That's why you're looking into them," said Crosshair impatiently.

"Yes, but I cannot guarantee I will find them all. And remember, Quinlan Vos said that Dverik is more powerful than he'd anticipated. He has many men dispersed throughout twenty-four levels of this sector."

Crosshair _had_ forgotten that part. After an unwilling pause, he nodded. "Then we need to find another way."

Wrecker gestured with his blaster. "We know where Hunter and Vos are, mostly. If we found a speeder or something, we could head outside, cut our way through the outer wall, and get 'em out that way."

"That wouldn't work." Crosshair went to the tiny window and stared out into the lanes of traffic. "Too much visibility from potential hostiles."

"Well . . ." Wrecker trailed off. "We could take Dverik hostage, or – I know! We could set off the explosives as a distraction and then sneak down."

Crosshair studied the buildings across the airway. There was a completely unlit one just opposite him – strange. Empty, perhaps. Maybe it was old, too dangerous for occupants.

"We could split up," Tech mused. "Wrecker can keep setting off explosives while I jam any outgoing communications – then you, Crosshair, can get the others out."

"No." Crosshair turned. "If something were to go wrong, we'd be in even more trouble. We stay together for now."

Wrecker cracked his knuckles. "Okay, but can I set the other explosives first?"

Crosshair looked questioningly at Tech, who said, "The top two levels are still devoid of lifeforms. It should be safe."

"I'll move fast," Wrecker added, already jogging across the room.

Crosshair rolled his eyes. "Fine, but if you get caught I'm not coming after you."

"You won't have to!" Wrecker called back. "I'll get out by myself!"

Once he left, Crosshair sat down next to Tech. "What have you got?"

"The security measures I've found are relatively simple," said Tech. "Electronic locks, intruder alarms set across specific doorways . . . I suspect that there are more localized measures as well."

He scrolled through screens at a dizzying rate. "For example, I'm picking up a faint signal here, but it doesn't tie into the main power grid. It could be a motion-detector."

Crosshair took the datapad away and flicked back to the schematics. "What about the prison level?"

"Interestingly enough, it contains very few security features. I suspect that is where the hired thugs live. See the number of lifesigns?"

He nodded. "Which one is Dverik?"

"I'm not sure. I suppose I could run a thermal scan and attempt to narrow down the results – after all, Devaronians do have a higher body temperature than humans, on average, but there are other species to take into – no!" He snatched the datapad from Crosshair. "I should have remembered. Devaronians' blood is silver-based, which is a trait very few species share!"

When he immediately started typing at his usual breakneck speed, Crosshair left him to his work. Once Tech got going on something, he wouldn't hear anything until he'd solved whatever problem had his attention.

 _"Hey, Crosshair?"_ Wrecker said. _"I'm on my way back."_

"Good for you." Crosshair returned to the window and stared at the dark, tall building. Something about it kept drawing his attention, almost as if he'd seen it before, but of course that was impossible.

 _"There are guys on the second level now,"_ Wrecker added.

"So keep quiet," Crosshair retorted, hardly noticing what Wrecker had said. A tall, empty building, opposite where the commandos were stationed –

"That's what it is," he muttered. "Wrecker, remember that building we investigated back at the airfield?"

_"You mean near Grakkus' palace?"_

"Ye –"

The door opened, and Crosshair whipped around, reaching for his pistol.

Wrecker barged in with a grin. "Ha, scared you!"

"Do that again, and I might just shoot you," hissed Crosshair.

"You sneaked up on me last week," protested Wrecker.

Crosshair released the weapon. "You only use your fists, which I can dodge. You're not fast enough to dodge lasers."

Wrecker shrugged and gave him a friendly punch to one shoulder. "You don't always manage to dodge, though."

Crosshair pushed him away. "Stop fooling around and _listen."_

"To what?" Wrecker gave him a confused look. "Why were you asking about that building, anyway?"

Instead of answering, Crosshair continued to stare at the building.

"I have located Dverik," announced Tech, hurrying over to them. "What building are you talking about?"

Crosshair stepped aside, making a sweeping gesture towards the tiny window.

Tech stood on his toes to peer out, then looked up him. "Why does that particular building matter?"

Crosshair smirked. "It's empty, and it's lower than the one we're in now. This looks like a good exit point."

"Ah," said Tech, casting a wary look at Wrecker. "That –"

Wrecker frowned. "What are you talking about?"

* * *

Tech listened without interrupting while Crosshair finished explaining his plan, but, the moment the sniper stopped talking, Tech crossed his arms and told him, "That plan is insane."

Crosshair smirked. "Gives us a better chance, though."

Wrecker had been surprisingly calm, only protesting once, but Tech did not feel calm at all. As a matter of fact, he felt somewhat jumpy. "There are too many variables involved."

His next-oldest brother cast him a calculating look. "It's better than trying to get through all the guards. Those guys were good enough to take down Vos _and_ Hunter."

"But they were caught by surprise," protested Tech. "We have a fairly good chance if we just break through the outer wall. If one of us finds a speeder beforehand –"

Crosshair shook his head. "You already looked for vehicles."

"Yes, but . . ." Tech looked at his datapad again. Crosshair's plan made the most sense, logistically speaking, but they'd never _used_ this plan before. Bad Batch had, of course, used non-predesignated plans before, but they'd always been Hunter's plans, and he'd always spearheaded them.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

Tech frowned and scrolled quietly through his screens of data. _Logically, my hesitation is incongruous. It is merely an insecurity, and makes very little sense, especially when taken in context. We have to get Hunter and Quinlan Vos out._

His field of vision was suddenly cut off as Wrecker shoved his cap down over his goggles.

"Don't worry," Wrecker said. "It'll work fine."

Tech squirmed away and adjusted his hat. "I still don't like it."

Crosshair tapped his fingers against his gunstock, looking uneasy. "Maybe there is a better way. If we had more time –"

"Oh, come on!" Wrecker folded his arms. "If we keep going around in circles, we won't get anywhere."

Tech glanced down at his screen, at the orange dot that showed Dverik's current location. Wrecker was right, and so was Crosshair, but so was Tech. And, unlike their usual disagreements, this one was _important._ "Yes, but if we get this wrong . . ." he began.

Crosshair opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Listen," said Wrecker, looking between them. "We've got to get Hunter and Vos out before something bad happens to them."

The other two watched him silently.

"Crosshair's plan is crazy, but we've done crazier things, right?" Wrecker went on.

 _But Hunter was there,_ Tech thought.

Crosshair seemed to be thinking the same thing. "We're trying to pull this off with three people."

Wrecker frowned at him. "It's _your_ plan – why are you backing off all of a sudden?"

Crosshair shifted and flicked his toothpick across the room. "Tech's right. If we get this wrong, all of us could be killed."

"So we get it right!" Wrecker looked like he couldn't believe his own senses. "I'm not going to let Dverik kill our sergeant just because _you_ don't have the guts to carry through with your own plan!"

Crosshair's cheeks flushed and he took a quick step forward.

Tech darted in front of him, lifting his hands. "Don't start fighting!"

There was a tense pause, and then, with a visible effort, Crosshair stopped glaring at Wrecker and looked impatiently down at Tech. "What, now you're fine with the plan?"

Tech pulled off his hat, fidgeted with it, then jammed it back over his head. "Well, Wrecker's right. We don't know what Dverik's plans are, and we may have very little time."

" . . . Fine." Crosshair turned and stalked off, speaking over his shoulder. "Let's get moving."

Tech hurried after him, pistol in one hand and datapad in the other. It was a pity that he didn't have his vambrace with him, but he'd just have to make do for now. And besides, he'd carried out plenty of missions with less. It was possible he was getting too used to having all the information he might need at his fingertips.

Crosshair reached the door ahead of the other two and slipped out without waiting for them to catch up. Tech increased his pace. "Come on, Wrecker!"

"Right behind you," Wrecker said. "Just had to grab the explosives."

Tech twisted just enough to see that Wrecker had, indeed, hoisted an entire metal crate of explosives to one shoulder and was running along with it. "Don't drop that."

Wrecker grinned. "Yeah, wouldn't want to set these off early!"

Tech ran from the room and looked around for Crosshair, who was already at the far end of the cantina. Breaking into a sprint, he caught up with the sniper. "I thought you said to stay together."

"Then keep up," muttered Crosshair.

"Wrecker's carrying explosives. We can't rush this first phase, Crosshair."

The sniper didn't reply, apart from an impatient sigh, but he hadn't immediately set off again, so Tech knew he had decided to slow down. He showed Crosshair the schematics. "We are quite close to the first master terminal."

"Okay," whispered Wrecker, joining them. "I've set two new ones. Forgot to check about comms."

"We should keep them off for now," Tech said.

Wrecker shut off his comlink, then gestured to the explosives. "I'll keep setting these. You guys go ahead."

Crosshair set off at a run, and Tech followed, eyes fixed firmly on his datapad as he watched the green lines of the map move with him. When the blinking red dot that was the terminal drew alongside his current position, he skidded to a halt and turned to look at the door. "Hm, this looks to be a triple-sealed room. No entry code."

Crosshair pulled a plasma cutter from his pocket. "What will set off alarms?"

Tech ducked around him to reach the panel and carefully unfastened it. "One moment. I will disconnect the alarms connected to the door itself . . . there. As long as you do not cut through or break the physical lock, we should be all right."

Crosshair activated the cutter and set to work engraving a large circle in the metal, about two feet from the ground.

Tech glanced behind him at Wrecker, then checked Dverik's position. "Dverik is still in the same location," he reported quietly. "There are approximately sixteen lifeforms in the room with him."

"Approximately?" Wrecker asked in a loud whisper.

"Well." Tech zoomed in on the display. "There are several lifeforms that keep shifting back and forth between various rooms."

"Oh. How many on the whole level?"

"Thirty." Tech frowned. "And two of those are Hunter and Quinlan, but I can't identify which two they are. There are several rooms with only two people present, and of course I am not certain that they were even imprisoned together."

Crosshair finished cutting, stepped away from the door, and launched a sideways kick into the circle of metal, which fell inward with a muted _clang._

Tech checked his scans. "No hostiles inside, but there may be traps present I cannot detect."

Crosshair slipped through the opening anyway.

With an exasperated huff, Tech clipped his datapad to his belt and followed. "You could have –"

Crosshair hushed him with an impatient movement of his hand. "There's the terminal. How long will you need?"

Tech powered up the computer. "That is entirely dependent on the methods used to secure it."

The dim light from the hallway was blocked as Wrecker looked inside. "Don't take too long, Tech – I hate standing guard."

"Good thing you won't have to." Crosshair tossed him the plasma cutter. "I'll stay while you get to the lift shaft and cut us an entrance _and_ an exit. Fourth floor."

"Might take me a few minutes," Wrecker said, pulling back. "I'll set the explosives while I'm at it."

"Fine." Crosshair studied the dark room for a moment, then leaned over and pushed a button. A rather outdated glowpanel buzzed to life.

Tech blinked. "Oh. That's better."

Crosshair smirked. "I'll be just outside. Keep me updated."

"Copy that." Tech removed a cable from his pocket and connected his datapad to the terminal. "Now, let's see – this shouldn't take too long . . ."

* * *

For the past several minutes, Hunter had been sitting motionless, leaning against the cool durasteel wall with his eyes closed. Vos hadn't spoken in that length of time, so Hunter presumed he was trying to sleep.

Hunter's thoughts drifted to his squad mates. Crosshair would have come up with some sort of plan by now, Wrecker was probably fine with it, and Tech was most likely hesitant. It always drove Wrecker crazy, how Tech could do something insane one moment, then be hesitant the next.

Hunter had long ago realized that most of Tech's crazier ideas were spur of the moment. Whenever he had time to really consider, his mind would map out all the things that could go wrong, and then he'd start trying to compensate for all the variables.

A soft, metallic creak interrupted his thoughts. The atmospheric temperature had probably dropped, causing the walls to contract slightly.

Two more creaks followed, from exactly the same spot, and Hunter realized that it had nothing to do with temperature. He opened his eyes. "What are you – Vos, what the frag."

Quinlan Vos, who was hanging by his knees from a thin rafter and had his arms folded across his chest, shot Hunter an upside-down look of confusion. "I'm meditating."

"You're –" Hunter got to his feet. "Jedi don't meditate like that . . . do they?"

"I do." He swung gently back and forth, looking contemplative. "Well, I don't when I'm _actually_ meditating. I do when I'm trying to bother my fellow Jedi. I've gotten some really good reactions out of them."

Hunter shook his head. "We haven't been here very long."

"And your point is –"

"You're _that_ bored already?"

". . . Yes?"

Hunter shook his head. "You're reminding me of Wrecker."

The Jedi snickered, but the amused expression promptly faded. "Uh-oh, Dverik's on his way."

With a quick, sharp swing, he flipped off the rafter, landed on his feet, and promptly slumped against a wall, crossing both arms over his knees. He glanced up at Hunter, expression deadly serious. "Follow my lead. We might get a chance to take him down."

"Right." Hunter leaned against the opposite wall and waited.

Heavy footsteps slowed to a halt just outside their door, which swung open to admit Dverik. The Devaronian was completely surrounded by an invisible _something_ that buzzed vibrantly in Hunter's mind.

"I suggest you don't try to kill me," Dverik said. "I have activated a ray shield. If you doubt that, feel free to attack."

Vos exchanged a look with Hunter, who gave him a slight nod in confirmation.

The Devaronian turned and called, "Turn the lights on in here!"

When the panels brightened, Hunter got his first good look at Dverik – he'd caught sight of him twice, but only from a distance, and then when he captured them, it had been too dark to see much. The Devaronian was easily as tall as Wrecker, and had orange eyes and leathery skin that was mottled black and brown. The two curved horns protruding from his head were covered in a gleaming bronze metal. On his left wrist was tattooed an orange, rectangular mark with inverted triangles at either end.

Dverik considered his two prisoners for a long moment before pressing a control on his belt. The ray shield vanished abruptly from Hunter's mind, and Dverik lunged across the cell. Before Hunter could move, Dverik had grabbed the Jedi by the throat, lifted him into the air, and slammed him back against the wall. "Who do you work for?"

Vos brought both hands up and stabbed his thumbs into the underside of Dverik's wrist. Dverik released him abruptly, then slammed a huge fist into his shoulder, throwing him to the ground. "Nice try, human."

"Th – thanks." Quinlan coughed, then sluggishly pushed himself onto his hands and knees and added, "What was the question again?"

"I think you remember." Dverik glanced at Hunter, as though ensuring that he wasn't a threat, then dragged Vos to his feet, closing one large hand around his wrists and pushing him back against the wall.

Hunter considered attacking, but it was pretty much pointless, unless the Jedi could give him a good distraction. If he could manage to keep Dverik from activating the shield, then they might stand half a chance.

Dverik drew a knife with his free hand. "You had better answer my questions before I put this to work."

He rested the tip against his prisoner's cheekbone, directly next to his eye.

Quinlan jerked away, and the flash of panic in his eyes sent a chill down Hunter's spine. The Jedi might have been acting, but Hunter doubted it.

"Talk," Dverik repeated. "Do you work for Black Sun?"

"No! We don't work for–" The Jedi froze as the knife nicked his skin.

"You don't?" Dverik leaned closer, light glinting across the bronze covering of his horns. "You seem . . . frightened, little human."

Hunter didn't dare attack outright, not when the knife was so close to Quinlan's eyes, but he knew he'd have to act in the next half-minute. He could tell by the set of Dverik's shoulders that he was already losing patience.

Vos, who seemed to have regained some of his composure, raised an eyebrow at his captor. "If we talk, our employer will have us killed."

"True," said Dverik unconcernedly. "On the other hand, if you talk, I _might_ allow you to live."

Vos glanced at Hunter, then back at Dverik.

He had only been silent for about three seconds, but that was apparently too long for Dverik, because the Devaronian released his prisoner's wrists and backhanded him into the adjacent wall. Before Vos could recover, Dverik threw him down and pinned his forearm to the ground, raising the knife for a blow.

Hunter lunged forward and threw his full weight against Dverik's shoulder blades, knocking him off-balance.

Dverik shouted in anger and pressed the control on his belt. Hunter tried to roll away, but the ray shield had already activated.

His vision flashed red, and a high-pitched ringing drowned out everything for an instant. When he opened his eyes again, he realized he'd been thrown back. He was lying on his side, and the Jedi was a few feet away, on his hands and knees, saying something.

Hunter vaguely hoped that it wasn't something annoying. _Surely_ Vos had learned his lesson by now. He looked pretty beat up . . . Oh. Dverik had been holding on to him when he activated the shield.

His hearing returned in a rush just as Dverik stepped between the two prisoners and said, "Let's try this _again_."

* * *

Apart from the sounds of Tech's muttering and typing, this area of the building had been silent for nearly five minutes. Wrecker would be returning shortly, and then at last they could get on to the next phase – if Tech found what they were looking for.

Crosshair checked both ends of the hallway and stopped himself from questioning Tech about his progress for at least the fifth time. Tech wouldn't hear him anyway.

Wrecker entered the hall and started towards the computer room just as the typing sounds cut off abruptly.

"Done!" Tech whispered triumphantly. "I'll just check this scan, and then we – wait."

Wrecker came up beside him. "All set."

"Crosshair?" Tech scrambled out through the opening, eyes wide with apprehension. "I think I know where Hunter and Quinlan are."

Crosshair snatched the datapad. The schematics were zoomed into a small room, and the orange dot that marked Dverik's position was directly between two green dots.

"They – could be anyone," Wrecker said encouragingly.

The orange dot stopped next to one of the green ones, which then moved abruptly and hit the line denoting the wall.

"I don't think Dverik throws his employees around for fun," said Crosshair, giving Tech the datapad. "Let's move."

As they sprinted towards the lift shaft, Tech said, "I shut down the locks and all the other automated security measures I could locate, apart from the alarms, of course, but we might still –" He paused for breath. "– have to deal with independently powered traps."

"What about the ship?" Crosshair skidded to a halt beside the huge hole cut into the lift shaft.

"On its way," Tech responded. "Are we altering the plan?"

"We're skipping the third level entirely." Crosshair leaned inside and felt for his cable, which Wrecker had already fired into the ceiling. "Either Vos is being an idiot and getting himself beat up, or they're really in trouble."

He stepped into the blackness and swung down, landing lightly forty feet below.

Tech shimmied down the cable and dropped next to him. "Good thing they sealed the shaft off," he commented, examining the rough edges that marked where the second opening would be. "It would have been nearly impossible to cut this while hanging on to a cable."

Wrecker landed with a thud. "We were supposed to leave the lift and head up a staircase to the third level. New plan?"

Crosshair readied his rifle. "We go straight through to the cells after we set off a couple alarms."

"But –" Tech hesitated. "What if Dverik suspects an attack? He'll kill them!"

"It's just a small explosion," Wrecker assured him. "Watch, you'll barely feel it."

He pressed the detonator, and the wall vibrated beneath Crosshair's hand. "Tech, give them a reason to move."

Tech obeyed promptly, and a few seconds later there was a shout from somewhere nearby. "Hey, we've got a fire warning on thirty-one!"

Crosshair leaned against the shaft wall and closed his eyes, listening. He counted at least six people running by, towards the nearest stairs. . . And another – three, maybe four – in the distance, running for the second stairway.

He gave them thirty seconds, then stepped aside.

Wrecker slammed a shoulder against the metal, converting his forward momentum into a somersault that brought him to a halt ten feet from the lift.

Crosshair stepped out into a wide, brightly lit, empty room. "Directions."

"We head straight," replied Tech. "No lifeforms in our immediate vicinity." He clipped his datapad to his belt, then drew both pistols.

Wrecker jumped up, ready to charge forward.

"Wait!" Crosshair snapped. "Rush in like that and Dverik probably _will_ kill them outright. I'll go first."

He ran from the room and down a long hall, keeping to the right – it would give him a better angle on the cell once he reached it. Tech followed closely, while Wrecker mirrored him on the left.

One hundred meters later, close to the end of the hall, Crosshair skidded to a halt and held up a hand, then sidled forward, rifle held diagonally across his chest.

A deep voice, so close that Crosshair almost jerked back, said, "The Black Sun is against my rise to power."

"See?" groaned a familiar voice. "Even they have _some_ standards."

Crosshair and Wrecker exchanged looks. Wrecker was fighting a smirk.

There was a thud, silence, and then Vos let out a sharp cry.

"Stop!" Hunter ordered.

Crosshair froze reflexively at the order, then continued when he realized that Hunter couldn't possibly see him yet.

"It's not the Black Sun," Hunter said.

Crosshair crept to the very edge of the hall and leaned out.

Dverik was standing over Vos, who was bent double. Hunter stood a few feet away from Dverik, arms folded as he stared calmly up at the massive Devaronian.

_Why isn't he attacking?_

Tech ducked beneath his elbow, datapad out again. "Dverik has a shield," he whispered. "A ray shield."

So much for his original plan of shooting Dverik through the arm. Careful not to make a noise, Crosshair set his rifle down and signed for Wrecker to activate the other explosives.

With a murderous grin, Wrecker complied. The floor shook, much more noticeably this time, and Dverik looked up at the ceiling with an angry snarl. "If it's not Black Sun, then who is it?"

Crosshair darted across the hall in two steps and approached the doorway, moving in utter silence. One hand closed around the hilt of his thin, sharp blade.

Hunter spoke again. "We're working for Grakkus the Hutt."

"Grakkus?" Dverik laughed. "He'll pose a minor threat at most. Well, then – that's all I needed to know."

The three commandos burst into action.

Tech let out a volley of shots from both pistols, battering the door's lock, which disintegrated just in time for Wrecker to smash through the door and slam it straight into Dverik. The shield held up under the onslaught, but forced the Devaronian back as Crosshair slipped into the cell.

Hunter grabbed Vos by one arm and shoved him toward the door.

Crosshair leaned over and took the Jedi's other arm, pulling him out into the corridor. "Go on," he told Hunter, stepping aside. "We'll handle Dverik."

With a roar of effort, Dverik flung the door – and Wrecker – back, then got to his feet.

"Hurry!" shouted Tech from outside. "The others are coming back!"

Dverik caught Crosshair's gaze, deactivated his shield, and took a step forward, but even as the Devaronian reached for the vibrosword he wore over one shoulder, Wrecker tackled him.

"Want to play rough?" he roared, flinging his blaster aside. "Come on, you scum!"

And he proceeded to throw punch after punch with reckless abandon, completely ignoring his gun. Idiot.

"Incoming!" shouted Hunter, already heading for the lift. "Come on, we've got to leave!"

Crosshair pulled his pistol and shot Dverik with three stun rounds.

"Aw," muttered Wrecker, seeing his enemy go limp. "Crosshair!"

"We're leaving," Crosshair informed him, and went to fetch his rifle.

Tech, who was leading Vos along by one elbow, was twenty meters down the hall, casting darting looks in all directions and waving his pistol emphatically as he urged Vos to hurry.

Two Weequay rushed into the hall from a side room.

Hunter broke into a sprint, launched himself into the air, and caught the first Weequay square in the chest, immediately somersaulting and spinning to knock the second enemy's feet out from beneath him.

Crosshair caught up with him and stunned both enemies, just to make sure they stayed down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In next week's installment, we discover the rest of Crosshair's plan. . . unless you guys guess it. :D


	25. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I re-wrote this three times . . . ;D

A Weequay rushed at Tech, and he ducked, pulling Quinlan to one side so that Wrecker could take out their adversary.

"More coming," the Jedi said hoarsely. "Dverik?"

"He isn't dead," Tech replied.

Four new enemies rushed down the stairway into the hall. Tech took down one, then let Wrecker handle the rest while he glanced back at his squad mates.

Crosshair ran towards him, pausing every couple of steps to stun or disable another enemy. Hunter hadn't exactly made what one could call headway, either – he kept stopping to fight at close quarters.

Quinlan staggered, and Tech steadied him and shouted, "We have to get to the shaft!"

"On our way!" Hunter replied. Spin kicking a Trandoshan, he ducked the return blow and added, "Anyone know where our weapons are?"

Tech pushed the Jedi up against the wall for support and checked the schematics on his datapad. "They are most likely in the room where you originally found Dverik. Ahead and to the right, just before the stairs."

Crosshair drew and tossed his pistol in one smooth motion. Hunter snatched it from the air and discharged two stun rounds into the Trandoshan, who dropped like a stone.

"I'll get 'em, Hunter!" Wrecker yelled. "You guys get up there!"

More men entered the room at a dead run.

Tech increased his pace. They'd made it only a few steps when Quinlan started coughing in short, pained gasps. Tech took the Jedi's arm and pulled it across his shoulders, slowing down a bit.

Crosshair sprinted past, dropped to his knees, and skidded in a sharp turn, shooting down two enemies before reaching up to catch the pistol as Hunter threw it back.

Tech rolled his eyes. His squad mates really did seem to have a special love of needlessly flinging weapons about the battle field. Hunter could just as easily have moved aside so that Crosshair could stun their enemies, but no. The two of them had a remarkable tendency to be unnecessarily _elaborate_ about close-range fighting.

"Not much farther," Tech said reassuringly.

"Joy . . . agh, Tech –" The Jedi slowed again, and Tech waited for him to catch his breath before moving forward.

Based on Quinlan's behavior, Tech thought it reasonable to assume that he had sustained a significantly painful, if not serious, injury to his ribs. He hoped they weren't broken – it was dangerous to move strenuously with broken ribs. The sharp ends could pierce a vein or the heart, collapse a lung, severely damage the liver, spleen, or kidneys . . .

He cast a concerned glance at Quinlan, who was clutching at his left side, just below his chest. At least that meant the lowest ribs weren't seriously injured – they were the hardest to break, and also the most dangerous.

He paused to check his memory for any helpful tips. "Don't twist to either side," he said. "It will aggravate your condition."

"Yeah – got that –"

"Oh." Tech stopped at the shaft and ushered Quinlan inside. "Will you be able to climb up the cable?"

"Uh – sure, yeah . . ."

Tech highly doubted the veracity of that statement. He leaned out into the hallway and shouted, "Will one of you stop fooling around and get _over_ here!"

Hunter joined him, leaving the remaining two enemies to Crosshair. "What is it?"

"He isn't doing well." Tech gestured from Quinlan to the cable.

Hunter cast a quick glance behind him as Wrecker re-entered the hallway. "Yeah, I think that last hit broke some ribs. What are our options?"

"Wrecker can carry him, or we can take the stairs," said Tech.

"I can climb," the Jedi said. His face was suddenly back to normal, and he straightened far more easily than he should have been able to. "I can work around this."

Before either could protest, he grabbed the cable and hoisted himself up. He was already six feet from the ground when the faint light from the opening high above them was suddenly cut off. Quinlan froze. "Guys – guys, out of the shaft. _Move!"_

Hunter yanked Tech out with him, and the Jedi joined them just as something clanked off the walls of the shaft and bounced to the floor.

Wrecker grabbed the piece he'd cut out earlier and slammed it back up in front of the opening. A jet of heat and light blasted out around the edges, and the metal buckled.

Not seeming to notice Quinlan's surprised look, Wrecker tossed the bent metal aside. "Okay, they're watching the shaft. That's not gonna work."

"We're taking the stairs," decided Hunter. "Come on!"

They raced up to the third level. Tech stayed close to Quinlan, just in case, but the Jedi seemed to have utterly recovered from what would normally be a debilitating injury.

It _had_ been a debilitating injury, too. It was unlikely that it had been suddenly healed. Tech had read about Force-healing, and it seemed to take a good deal of concentration, and a lot of time. Tech lifted both pistols and shot out a small turret gun before it could activate.

"Hunter!" called Quinlan. "The opening –"

"Already on it," replied Hunter.

Two guards sprang out at him from pillars on either side of the hall, and Hunter twisted, skidded between them, and grabbed the human across the neck, jabbing one knee into his side before flinging him against the Weequay.

Crosshair stunned both guards.

Wrecker tossed Hunter his knife and pistol, then handed the other two vibroblades to Quinlan.

"Thanks," said the Jedi, slipping them back into their sheaths. "Tech – enemies?"

Tech had initiated a scan the instant he'd stopped running. "Eight near the stairs leading to the second level. Three beneath us. None on the first or second."

Hunter broke into a run, Wrecker close behind.

"That doesn't make sense," Crosshair told Tech. "There should be more opposition than this."

Tech cast him a quick look as they ran after Hunter, the Jedi between them. "Yes, and I expect we'll run into it before we can escape."

A sudden racket broke out ahead of them, and Tech slowed, perfectly willing to let Hunter and Wrecker take down the remaining enemies while he checked on his other contingencies.

* * *

Quinlan knew his two companions were talking, but he'd stopped paying attention to their words – it was taking nearly all his focus to channel the Force through himself, numbing the flames in his side and chest to a level that would allow him to keep moving and breathing.

He hoped Tech and Crosshair had some sort of backup plan, because running around Dverik's stronghold, hoping no one would catch them, was just – a bad idea.

As they ran, the commandos spoke to each other every so often, but Quinlan didn't catch any of it. They had this part of the mission handled. He sank deeper into the Force, focused on the thin flickers of red that showed those who were actively threats – oh.

He had to make a conscious effort to speak. "New group coming. Landing dock."

"Aw, great!" grumbled Wrecker.

They all came to an abrupt stop, and Quinlan looked around, slowly coming out of his daze. They were on the second level, directly beneath the hole he and Hunter had cut into the upper floor.

Hunter jumped and caught the edge, then vanished into the next level. "Clear for now. Let's move!"

He helped Crosshair up, then leaned down to pull Tech up after him.

Quinlan crouched and leaped. He landed unsteadily on the edge of the hole, but Tech caught his elbow and pushed him forward. "We're nearly there," the commando said, hurrying forward through the severely damaged hallway.

An angry shout from directly beneath them caught Quinlan's attention. "Good," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Because I think that was Dverik I just heard."

"I stunned him _four times,"_ Crosshair said disbelievingly.

Tech ducked beneath a trailing wire. "He's a Devaronian. They are naturally resistant to fire. I hardly think –"

"There they are!" yelled Dverik from behind them.

All five of them broke into a run.

"– that four stun shots were sufficient," finished Tech.

Hunter gave a disbelieving huff. "Tech! Less talking, more running!"

They sprinted through the cantina and into the loading dock, and Crosshair locked the door from inside before shooting out the control panel.

The external doors were wide open, though, and a speedertruck full of enemies was slowly approaching.

"Incoming," warned Hunter.

Crosshair, already halfway to the wide doors, skidded to a halt. "New plan?"

"No!" shouted Tech, ripping the cable attachment from his belt and throwing it to Crosshair. "Go on, we'll take care of these guys!"

Wrecker also tossed his cable to Crosshair, then dropped to one knee, firing a continuous spray of lasers at the heavily armored speedertruck.

Without a ranged weapon, Quinlan was useless for the moment, so he made his way across the dock to Crosshair, keeping behind the crates for cover. "What's the plan?"

Instead of answering, Crosshair brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired. A cable streaked across the airway, five meters above the rushing traffic, and embedded itself into the top of the _Havoc Marauder,_ which stood directly in the center of the roof of a dark building opposite to him.

" . . . Good plan," said Quinlan.

Turning, Crosshair ejected the opposite end of the cable into the dock ceiling, then promptly attached the second cable to his rifle. He stepped to the side and was just repeating the process when there was a hiss of overheated metal from behind them.

"Dverik's cutting through!" yelled Hunter.

"We can't take down the truck!" shouted Tech. "It's going to land!"

The speedertruck's engines suddenly flared with power, and the vehicle lurched forward, aimed directly for the center of the room, where Wrecker and Tech were standing.

Hunter shouted a warning, but they were already running for cover. Quinlan jumped out from cover and stretched both hands toward the commandos as Crosshair fired.

His shot hit the speeder's left engine, which burst into flame. The vehicle lurched sideways and dropped the meter to the floor, leaving a wide path of damage in its wake as it continued to swerve.

Quinlan summoned the Force in a powerful blow and sent Wrecker and Tech sprawling just before the speeder would have hit them.

The top of the speeder retracted, and a dozen heavily armed men jumped out. At the same instant, a loud metallic crash sounded from the other side of the room, and Dverik entered the loading dock.

Everyone hesitated for an endless instant – Crosshair and Quinlan stood side by side near the edge of the loading dock; Dverik and his two guards studied the wreckage before them while Hunter stood several meters away, knife in one hand; and Tech and Wrecker, across the room and separated from the others by the speeder, aimed at the reinforcements.

Dverik laughed.

Calling on the Force for strength, Quinlan silently drew his knives and cast a look at Crosshair, tilting his head toward the reinforcements. The sniper's sharp eyes glinted, and he whipped his rifle up, firing rapidly.

As the first mercenary fell, Hunter leaped into the air, aiming a sideways kick at Dverik's chest. As Dverik lurched back, Hunter landed in a crouch, lashing out with his blade.

Crosshair sprinted the length of the dock, drawing the mercenaries' fire. Wrecker charged into them, catching them completely off-guard. Tech added his own shots to the battle as Quinlan grabbed one of Dverik's guards from behind and slammed his head into the floor.

The other guard was already down. Dverik glanced between his two opponents and struck at Quinlan, who jumped away, stumbling as he landed.

Wrecker flung the last two mercenaries across the room, and the firefight came to an abrupt halt. Dverik backed away from Hunter, gnashing his teeth in anger as Wrecker and Crosshair moved toward the cables.

Hunter and Quinlan attacked just as Dverik activated his shield again. Quinlan reacted in time, but Hunter was jolted back against the wall. Crosshair's laser bounced off the shield, nearly hitting Quinlan.

Dverik advanced, and Quinlan backed steadily towards Wrecker, focusing the Force on Dverik's shield controls in an attempt to deactivate them. No luck. Dverik probably had them keyed for fingerprint-recognition only.

Behind Dverik, Hunter got up and met Quinlan's eyes. Quinlan glanced briefly toward the cables and the sergeant obeyed, slipping across the room to join his squad.

Quinlan looked up at Dverik and grinned mirthlessly. "We're headed out. Thanks for your hospitality."

Dverik cracked his knuckles in a disturbingly Wrecker-like manner.

Quinlan rotated his knives to a reverse-grip, silently willing Dverik to stay focused on him. _Guys, get out of here already!_

"Tech, come on!" shouted Hunter. "What are you doing?"

Quinlan suddenly realized that Tech was still across from the others, setting something against the base of a crate.

"Come on, let's go!" yelled Wrecker impatiently.

"I'm coming!" Tech called. He ran towards the others. "Wrecker, I linked that final charge to your –"

A shot rang out. Tech spun completely around and dropped on his stomach, one pistol flying from his hand. It skittered along the duracrete, loud in the sudden stillness, as the mercenary who had fired got to his feet, still aiming at the fallen commando.

Crosshair shot him twice as Hunter raced towards Tech.

Quinlan's distraction cost him. Before he'd quite realized that Dverik had shut off the shield, the Devaronian had lifted him by the throat. Quinlan stabbed his forearm, and Dverik dropped him.

Quinlan struck out with both knives, one up towards Dverik's heart and the other over-hand, aimed for his throat.

Dverik dodged the first knife and caught the second, allowing the blade to sink straight through his palm. Before Quinlan could release the hilt, the Devaronian's huge fingers closed over his hand, crushing it as he forced him to his knees. Dverik's other fist crashed into the side of his face, twisting him around. His vision flashed.

"DVERIK!" yelled Wrecker, barely audible through the pulsing roar in Quinlan's ears.

Dverik released him and stepped back, activating his shield again.

Wrecker lunged past Quinlan and launched a heavy kick directly into the shield protecting Dverik – then another, then another, forcing him repeatedly back against the wall. The shield hit the wall and rebounded, throwing Dverik forward into Wrecker's next blow. The towering commando barely seemed to notice the flickers of red lightning that struck him.

Quinlan stumbled to his feet and backed away, sheathing his remaining knife. As soon as he could draw a breath, he shouted, "Wrecker – you're gonna kill yourself!"

To his utter disbelief, the shield sputtered and died. Wrecker slammed a final kick into Dverik's stomach, and there was a _crunch_ as the shield emitter broke. Dverik reeled back, Quinlan's knife still through his hand, but Wrecker didn't stop. He picked up Dverik by the front of his jacket and punched him repeatedly in the face before hurling the unconscious Devaronian to the ground.

"Wrecker!" shouted Hunter.

The big clone ignored him, stepping purposefully towards Dverik, and Quinlan grabbed Wrecker's arm with his good hand. "Stop! We've got to leave, Wrecker!"

Wrecker stared down at him, then broke free of his grip and stalked back to the dock's edge, leaving Quinlan to follow. The desperate fight had felt lengthy, but it couldn't have taken more than twenty seconds – Crosshair and Hunter had just reached the cables again, supporting Tech between them.

"He okay?" demanded Wrecker.

Hunter's face was expressionless. "I don't know yet. Cross, get us to the ship."

Crosshair whipped a length of cable off his belt and slung it over the two leading to the shuttle. He grabbed one end in his right hand. "We'll have to carry him."

Hunter nodded and took the opposite side of the cable in his left hand. Quinlan watched uncertainly. Surely they weren't intending to slide down the cable to the ship while carrying Tech . . .

Wrecker positioned Tech's arms around their necks while Tech slumped bonelessly against Hunter. He'd never be able to hold his own weight – he wasn't even conscious.

Quinlan glanced at the sergeant. "Hunter . . .?"

Hunter ignored him. Crosshair slipped his free arm beneath Tech's knees and got a tight grip on Hunter's gun belt. Wrecker released his weight, and Hunter put his arm across Tech's chest, winding his fingers through the sniper's bandolier.

Quinlan stepped back, watching silently. He would never dare to do what they were attempting, but they seemed confident – as though they'd practiced dozens of times before.

A flash of red filled his mind, and he jolted. "More guards," he warned. "They're approaching fast."

"Cover us," Hunter ordered. He and Crosshair kicked off the loading dock together and slid down the cable, across the thirty-meter gap towards the _Marauder._ As they neared the ship, they leaned back, bracing themselves against the shuttle's roof for a moment, then simultaneously released the cable. Still carrying Tech, they landed on the boarding ramp and disappeared into the ship.

Quinlan let out a quick sigh of relief. "Okay. Got another cable, Wrecker?"

"Yeah . . ." said Wrecker uncertainly. "Uh, Vos, I think –"

_Oh, no._

Wrecker collapsed, and all Quinlan could do was jump out of the way to avoid being crushed. He dropped to his knees, chest searing as he fumbled for the comlink on Wrecker's wrist and switched it to audio output. "Hunter –" No, Hunter didn't have a comlink. "Crosshair! Crosshair, you'd better be receiving this."

 _"What happened?"_ the sniper demanded.

"Wrecker's passed out." On the other side of the room, someone stirred. Quinlan jerked around. "And – Dverik's waking up . . ."

 _"Hold position,"_ Hunter cut in. _"We're coming to you."_

Quinlan watched as the _Marauder's_ engines came to life. Voices sounded in the hall outside, and he and Wrecker were completely exposed. He reached for Wrecker's blaster.

The ammo clip was empty. Quinlan dropped the gun and started searching Wrecker's jacket pockets, muttering to himself. "This is the _last_ time I leave behind my lightsaber, I _swear . . ."_

Four men entered the room and stopped. Quinlan cast a quick look over and saw that Dverik was on his knees, breaths coming in audible rasps.

Dverik looked slowly up and met Quinlan's gaze. His orange eyes sharpened to a glower and he snarled, black blood dripping between his teeth.

Quinlan's fingers closed around a small object in Wrecker's jacket pocket just as the lights of the _Marauder_ drew close, casting long shadows across the room. The boarding ramp extended, hovering just over the edge of the loading dock, and Hunter jumped off, firing a spray of lasers that sent the new guards diving for cover.

Dverik growled and wrenched the blade out of his own hand. "Kill – them!"

Hunter snatched Wrecker's gun, clipped it and his own weapon to his belt, and grabbed Wrecker under the arms. Somehow, he managed to drag him towards the ramp, but there was no way he'd be fast enough . . .

Quinlan stood up, praying to the Force that he'd understood Tech's last sentence correctly, and pressed the detonator.

The opposite end of the loading dock exploded in a blaze of fire and heat that sent Quinlan staggering backwards. He caught his balance a few feet from the edge of the dock and turned to help Hunter.

Between them, they dragged Wrecker up the boarding ramp. The instant they'd crossed the doorway, Hunter slapped the control panel and ran into the cockpit. "Get us out of here!"

The ship tilted sharply, and Quinlan dropped to his hands and knees. The vibrations in the floor increased as more power was added to the engines.

Tech, who lay on the floor a few paces away, shifted as the ship made another sharp turn. Quinlan crawled forward and gripped Tech's arm in a feeble attempt to secure him. The ship swung again, and Quinlan winced at the grinding feeling in his chest.

"They've broken off," Hunter's voice said suddenly. "They're leaving."

Quinlan hadn't even known they were being pursued, but – "That's good . . ."

* * *

Their pursuers left as Crosshair approached the Prince's hideout, and Hunter rushed back into the cargo hold. Crosshair positioned the _Marauder_ above the platform and initiated the landing sequence. He cut the engines almost before they'd touched the platform, then hurried after Hunter.

Wrecker lay just inside the doorway, and the Jedi was slumped against the wall near Tech, face pale beneath the paint he'd used to disguise his tattoos.

Hunter had already gotten the medkit and was scanning Tech. Crosshair glanced at Wrecker, then at Vos. "What happened?"

The Jedi's gaze flickered up to meet his. "Think it was a delayed reaction from overloading Dverik's shield."

The effects would be the similar to those from a stun baton, then – though probably a lot stronger. Crosshair checked Wrecker's pulse, then wrangled him out of his jacket and looked over at Hunter, who still hadn't commented on Tech's condition.

Crosshair tossed the jacket aside and joined him. "Why isn't he awake?"

"He hit his head when he went down." Hunter reached for the burned fabric along Tech's right side, then hesitated. "That shot cauterized the blacks to his skin. I'll have to cut around it."

Crosshair sat cross-legged and hoisted Tech's shoulders into his lap so Hunter could work more easily. "Think we can treat this ourselves?"

Hunter reached for the medical shears and set to work snipping carefully around the injury. "I'd rather not . . . Vos, you know of any other options around here?"

Quinlan rubbed his eyes tiredly against one sleeve, removing most of the face paint in the process. "I wouldn't trust the so-called doctors, if that's what you're asking. What's the holdup?"

Hunter pushed the cut edges back from around the burn and grimaced faintly. "I know something about field care, but not much. Aren't there any medical droids around?"

"If they are, they'll be worth their weight in credits." The Jedi pushed himself to his knees with a grunt of pain and glanced at the injury. "It's not too serious – I can treat it."

Hunter stared at him for several seconds, then nodded. "You done this before?"

"Not on someone else." The Jedi limped over to Hunter's side, dropped unsteadily to his knees, and reached for the disinfectant.

Crosshair frowned. He couldn't tell whether Vos was serious or joking. Shifting Tech back to the ground, Crosshair went to check the scanners. There were no nearby lifeforms or vehicles. He set the proximity alert to notify them if anyone came within a hundred meters and returned to the cargo hold.

Wrecker was still out cold – then again, it _had_ only been a few minutes. Crosshair pulled him onto his side, situated him in a recovery position, and injected him with a relaxant.

"I can't debride this without water," the Jedi said.

Hunter hurried into the galley, returning with a couple of sealed drink pouches. "Will these work? It's purified."

"Yeah." The Jedi turned Tech onto his side and poured water over the burn. "Give me the forceps."

Hunter handed him the small tool. Quinlan's hands were shaking.

Crosshair narrowed his eyes and took a step closer, ready to demand that Vos wait until he was steadier, but then the Jedi closed his eyes and drew a slow breath. The tremors stopped immediately.

"Okay," Vos said. "He still out cold?"

Hunter glanced at Tech. "Yeah."

"Good." Without further ado, the Jedi set to work, removing the bits of cloth from the burn with deft movements. "Keep an eye on him. Tell me if he wakes up."

Crosshair hesitated, then went to the bunkroom and got a couple of blankets. He wasn't too familiar with anything beyond basic field care, but keeping the victim warm was usually near the top of the list.

When he returned, Hunter had crossed Tech's arms over his chest and was trying to hold him still as Tech muttered something incoherent.

"Almost done," the Jedi said.

Tech opened his eyes suddenly and looked right at Quinlan. "The final charge is linked to Wrecker's detonator!"

Vos snorted, still focused on his work. "Don't worry, I set it off."

". . . Oh." Tech tilted his head back and looked up at Hunter. "What are you doing?"

"Holding you still."

"Why?"

"You were shot. Vos is trying to get the material out of the injury."

"It's called debridement," Tech said absently. "Where's Wrecker and Crosshair?"

"I'm here," said Crosshair. "Wrecker's near the door."

"Oh." Tech stared at the ceiling for a moment. "Where are we?"

"In the _Marauder,"_ said Hunter, casting a concerned look at Crosshair.

"No, I meant, where is the _Marauder?"_

"Back at the landing pad."

"Oh." Tech pulled against Hunter's grip. "You can let me go now."

"No, he can't," interrupted Quinlan. "I don't want to be hit in the eye."

"Why would I hit you?" Tech paused, then cast him a suspicious glance and twisted suddenly towards him.

"Hold still." Vos set aside the forceps. "I have to clean this and put a bacta patch over it."

Crosshair was sure that Vos would offer Tech a painkiller, so he tossed the blankets next to Hunter and hurried behind him to Tech's other side as the Jedi went on talking.

"You're probably gonna want a painkiller. Let me grab –"

"No!" Tech jerked up, nearly hitting a surprised Hunter in the nose with the back of his head.

Quinlan, who already had the hypo in one hand, stared quizzically at his suddenly active patient.

"Tech . . ." said Hunter.

"No." Tech jerked his arms free. "I'm _fine_ , I don't need –"

"Quiet," Crosshair ordered sharply, catching Tech's arms. "Vos, put that away."

Quinlan blinked, gave his head a quick shake, and obeyed.

Tech stared at Crosshair, who said, "We won't give you one, but don't say we didn't offer. Now hold _still._ "

Hunter, who seemed perfectly fine with letting Crosshair deal with this next part, went to check on Wrecker.

Crosshair frowned after him. Hunter had always been a little squeamish when it came to medical treatments . . . especially when Hunter was the one doing them.

Crosshair had always thought it was better to just get it over with.

Fortunately, it appeared that the Jedi felt the same. He cleaned the burn without any hesitation, not pausing when Tech jerked away, reflexively digging his fingers into Crosshair's wrists. Crosshair flinched, but didn't say anything.

"Okay," said the Jedi, sitting back on his heels. He applied a bacta patch and considered his work. "You should be all set."

Hunter reappeared. Coward.

Crosshair looked up and rolled his eyes, and Hunter gave an apologetic shrug.

"Thank you," said Tech, starting to sit up.

Crosshair poked his uninjured side. "Stay there."

Tech flopped back with a put-upon sigh. "Crosshair . . ."

"Tech . . ." he mimicked.

"Cross . . ."

"Tech . . ."

Hunter shut his eyes, then reopened them. "QUIET. Vos, what about you?"

"What about me?" The Jedi stood up, rubbing disinfectant over his hands. "Are we safe for now?"

"Yes," said Hunter.

Tech stopped trying to break free of Crosshair's hold and blinked up at Vos. "You were suffering from broken ribs," he said, almost accusingly.

The Jedi shrugged. "Yeah, I was."

"You couldn't possibly have healed that quickly."

"Nope." Quinlan smirked.

Tech frowned.

Hunter looked like he wanted to smack both of them, but before he could say anything, Wrecker spoke. "Ow . . . Hey. Where's Tech?"

"On his way to the bunkroom," Hunter said firmly.

Tech frowned again, but didn't actually argue. Crosshair released him and got up, realizing that his own hands were shaking slightly. It was probably from all the adrenaline of the past half-hour.

Wrecker got up slowly, wincing with every movement. Hunter tossed him a painkiller, and Wrecker jabbed it into his neck without hesitation. "What happened?"

"You passed out," said Hunter shortly. "Because you decided to take out Dverik's shield with brute force."

"Oh, yeah." Wrecker glanced at Vos. "It worked, anyway."

Hunter's eyes flickered with annoyance, and Crosshair could tell he wanted to shout at his older batchmate for being such an idiot. All he said, though, was, "Go get some rest, all of you. I'll stand guard for now."

Wrecker nodded, cracked a few joints, and said, "Want me to bring Tech?"

"Yes," said Hunter.

"No," said Tech.

Wrecker picked Tech up.

Tech looked like he'd reached the limits of his patience. "You are all being incredibly annoying. I can walk!"

"Not right now, you can't!" Wrecker, as always, had recovered his usual obnoxiously cheerful attitude within half a minute of waking up.

Hunter set to work cleaning up the medical supplies. Quinlan Vos, looking strangely pale all of a sudden, made his way to the nearest wall and leaned against it for support.

Crosshair collected the blankets, and wandered after the other two. Tech was still arguing with Wrecker, who'd put him in Hunter's bunk, and Wrecker was being entirely too cheerful in return.

He did this every time they had a narrow escape. Some people got quieter, and Wrecker got louder and . . . happier. It was _annoying._

Crosshair tossed a blanket over Tech. "Be quiet and go to sleep. Wrecker, you too."

Wrecker grumbled, but obeyed. Tech gave Crosshair a mutinous look, once he got the covers off of his head, but Crosshair ignored him and shut off the light.

He returned to the cargo hold just in time to see the Jedi clutch the door frame, stumble sideways, and drop to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that the Bad Batch was decanted a couple of days apart, and that Wrecker is the oldest, then Hunter, then Crosshair, and finally Tech. :)
> 
> I ended up doing a fair amount of research on how severe burns are treated, and debridement is definitely something I would feel squeamish about, so I sympathize with Hunter. :)
> 
> As far as Tech's fear of needles goes - well, those of you who are petrified when it comes to medical needles know what I'm talking about. :D


End file.
